


Leverage: All The Way Down

by Gilbert_H_Karr



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 42,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8628694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gilbert_H_Karr/pseuds/Gilbert_H_Karr
Summary: Eliot responds to a request for help from an old friend, and accidentally stumbles onto a plot, by a familiar enemy, to destroy the team. Now, he must use all the skills he possesses to keep them all safe. Rated T for mild language, scenes of torture and violence. This is something of a sequel to Experimental Friendships, though it is not necessary to read that one before reading this one.





	1. Chapter 1

The night was dark and cold, and the distant lights that glinted around the perimeter of the camp did nothing to dispel the inky blackness. Fat, freezing raindrops fell steadily, making _a tink, tink, tink_ sound as they hit first the trees and then the ground. A mass huddled, shivering, in the center of the ring of darkness where the pinpoints of light did not reach, and the only sounds were the steady cacophony of raindrops, the breathy squeak of chattering teeth, and the squishy, squelchy sound of mud-covered cloth as it tried to break free of the half-frozen mud that held it down. The last sounds were really the only definitive proof that the mass might be alive, and they were growing weaker with each moment that passed.

                He didn’t know how long he had been lying on this muddy patch of ground, only that the pain that had wracked his body, from the many hours of torture to which they had subjected him and from the multiple gunshots he had endured, was gone and a strange nothingness replaced it. He didn’t seem to be fatally wounded, though he had been shot at least seven times, with two different caliber weapons, and he was sure he had lost a good bit of blood. It didn’t matter, nor was he particularly bothered by the realization that he no longer felt the cold. He had no doubt that the rest of his senses would soon follow suit, dimming one by one, until the spark that marked him as a living person, unique unto himself, winked out.  With luck, he would fall asleep and never wake up again. For people like him, that wasn’t the worst way he could die. The only thing that mattered now was that he hadn’t talked, he had refused them the information they were after, and therefore, had managed to keep one of his oldest friend, and his team, safe awhile longer. His death would have meaning. As the world slid sideways into nothingness, he struggled to hold on to that thought, but he was tired—so tired, and in the end, the exhaustion overwhelmed him. The last thing he felt, as the darkness reached out for him, was something solid on his chest. _So this is what dying feels like,_ he thought, as he felt himself sliding into the abyss.

(0o0)

                Later, it could have been minutes or hours, he had no way to tell, he became aware of liquid fire stabbing at every inch of his body, and for a moment, the part of him that had been raised a believer wondered if he had awakened in Hell. Though he understood none of it, the cadence that surrounded him spoke of an urgent, disciplined activity, undertaken with restlessness and military precision. Sensing that he was in a place of safety, though he couldn’t marshal enough coherent thought to actually say why, he felt his body giving back in, and he once again slept the deep sleep of exhaustion.

                Still later, he awoke again, to a different kind of fire. This time, it was dry, and more pleasantly warm than hot, but his nerve endings still screamed in remembered pain, and every muscle in his body ached. He felt something on his face that reminded him of the hot towels available before a straight-razor shave at an old fashioned barber shop, and struggled to open his eyes. They seemed to be glued shut.

“Just a minute,” said a strong, feminine voice. He felt the hot towel swipe at his eyes, wiping the sleep away gently. Finally, the voice spoke again. “Now try to open them.”

When he did what he was told, the scene was blurred, and he couldn’t make out anything. He quickly closed them again, and the hand on his shoulder and the voice in his ear told him to relax and wait a moment longer before trying again. Again he felt the hot towel wiping at his eyes. When he finally opened them again, a woman with flaming red hair and eyes the color of emeralds looked back at him from a face he hadn’t seen in over ten years. He felt the disorientation, like the world had turned upside down.

“Redheads burn the hottest,” he said.

He heard refined laughter, which sounded like the tinkling of a dozen small bells, and she said, “Eliot Spencer, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that because you’re injured, and may be sick, and also likely still a bit groggy from your ordeal.”

Embarrassment crept up his face as he realized just where it was he knew this woman to whom he was speaking from.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and tried to sit up.

She put out a hand to stop him. “Don’t. We’re still getting you cleaned up, and you don’t need to start bleeding again.” Producing a hypo from somewhere, she injected him with a local anesthesia, and after giving it a few minutes to take effect, she started stitching up the gunshot wounds. He lay there, stoically silent, until she had to dig one bullet out from where it was lodged against the bone. In his condition, she couldn’t give him anything stronger than the local he had already taken, and so she wouldn’t have blamed him in the least had he felt the need to scream, but all he did was grunt as the bullet was removed. When she was finished, he held out his hand to her, and she helped him sit up, and propped some pillows behind him.  When she finished, she went about the business of bandaging his wounds.

“Are you hungry?”  she asked, pressing a bottle into his hand and helping him drink.

“No,” he said.

She indicated the water bottle in his hand. “All right, then. This, plus the IV, will help to counter the blood loss, so I will expect you to drink it all.”

“I was supposed to be rescuing you,” he said, disbelief coloring his features as the thought occurred to him.

“Rescuing me? From what?”

Suddenly, he sat bolt upright, grimacing at the pain that movement caused, and said, “My team! Did you call them?”

“If you are meaning Nathan Ford and the rest of that team, then yes. They are camped out downstairs. Mr. Ford and Mr. Hardison helped me get you up here, but Nate told me that you might not want the rest of the team to see what cleaning you up looked like, so they agreed to wait until I got you cleaned up, bandaged, and dressed to come and see you.” With those words, she handed him a button up shirt and a clean pair of jeans. “While you get dressed, I will go and deliver the news to your team that you’ll live, and allow them a short visit. Then I want you to sleep and gain some strength. Tomorrow is soon enough to talk about the mission.”

 She helped him work his arms into the sleeves of the shirt, and then left him to himself while she went downstairs to report to the team.

(0o0)

                Eliot didn’t have the energy to handle the whole team together, so they visited him one by one. Nate was the last, and it was during his visit that exhaustion once again overtook the hitter, and he faded off to sleep. After a moment, Nate turned to the woman in the room and spoke quietly.

                “How is he, Dr. Carrington?”

                “Kitty, please. Or Doc. Whichever you prefer. He’s still a bit hypothermic, but he’s starting to warm up. I think he’ll be okay. What was he doing out there, anyway?”

                “I was hoping you could answer that question, since we were supposed to be rescuing you.”

                “Eliot mentioned something about that. I never called for a rescue.”

                Nate rose and moved over to the other side of the bed, picking up Eliot’s muddy jeans where they had been discarded when she cut them off of him. Fishing around in the pockets for a moment, he pulled out a large, round, bronze colored coin and handed it to her. “Is this yours?” he asked.

                She looked at it for a moment before nodding. “Yes, that’s my special forces medallion. I gave it to a young man, along with a coded message, for delivery to Eliot. I was trying to arrange a meeting with him.”

                “Why?”

                “On a matter private to the two of us. It seems there are bigger problems now, though. Those men who captured him—they were CIA, and they were trying to flush your whole team out. I don’t know why, nor do I know any more about all of this than what I’ve told you.”

                “How did you know how to contact Eliot? That letter came here to the office.”

                “We served together for fifteen years. I make it a priority to follow the careers of the men with whom I served. We take care of one another.”

                “So do we.”

                “I don’t expect you to trust me, but Eliot trusted me once upon a time.”

                “I still do,” said a quiet voice from the direction of the bed.

                “So what’s our next move?”

                “I think it’s safe to say I’m burned. The false information from the messenger, and setting you up to rescue me is a sure sign of that, wouldn’t you say?”

                “Agreed. We will want to talk to you, when you are able to leave Eliot, so we go in with as much information as we can get.”

                “Of course.”

(0o0)

                Doc’s survival depended upon noticing details about people. So, she was getting a bit frustrated as she tried to remember the details of the two people she had seen. The more she tried to remember, the more the details seemed to slip through her grasp, and the more frustrated she became. She sat with Parker, who had a small sketchpad open on her lap, in the living room area of Nate’s apartment. Nate and Sophie sat at the dining room table, watching quietly.

                “So you said that one of the men had short, close cropped hair and square features? Do you remember anything else about him?”

                “I think he was middle aged. I didn’t really get that good a look at him.”

                Standing up, still looking at her, Nate spoke, “I’ll bet you remember more than you think.”

                “Mr. Ford, with due respect, I am trained to notice details about people. I have bet my life on remembering details of faces, features, sometimes names. You can trust me when I tell you, I can’t remember.”

                “But you’re also a doctor, a scientist. So you would be open to an experiment, right?”

                She stared at Nate for a moment, and he knew she was weighing what she knew of him against her own instincts, sizing him up. Finally, she asked, “What sort of experiment?”

                He hesitated, and her eyes narrowed. He knew, if he wanted to get anywhere with her, he had to tell her the truth. He just didn’t know how she would react. Taking a deep breath, he said, “hypnosis.”

                “Interesting. I’ve heard of people who could access the subconscious to get details the conscious memory might have overlooked, but I’ve never seen it done. Tell me, Nathan Ford, who among you has the training to do such as this.”

                “Close your eyes.” She did so, and he began speaking again, in a quiet and soothing voice.

(0o0)

It seemed as though she had just closed her eyes when she opened them again, to Parker holding the sketchpad up with completed drawings of two men, and smiling widely. Kitty wasn’t sure how to feel. On the one hand, she was happy that they had been able to get what they needed from her mind, but on the other, she felt a bit awkward that she had no memory of how that had happened. She couldn’t deny that it was an interesting experience, though.

Wearing a neutral mask, she said, “Glad I could help. Do you recognize anyone?”

Nate looked at the drawings in shock, but didn’t say anything.

“Well. I’d better go check on Eliot.” And with that, she turned and disappeared up the stairs. Her hitter friend was still sleeping when she got there.  As she pulled the cover back to check on him, a pair of startling blue eyes met hers.

                “Hi Sweetheart,” he said, giving her the smile that would make most women do just about anything for him.

                She smiled back. “How are you feeling?”

                “Ain’t gonna lie,” he grunted. “I’m hurting.” She was, perhaps, the only person to whom he would freely admit that. It had always been that way, maybe because she knew him well enough to know when he was telling the truth, and maybe because she was a doctor so he couldn’t quite hide it from her.

                Just then, Nate came into the room, carrying the drawing. She had her back to him, conversing with her patient.

                “Well, you’re not in shock anymore. I’ll get you some morphine.” Nate moved up to the other side of Eliot’s bed, just as he spoke up. 

                “I don’t wan—” he started, but she cut him off, with a quick shake of her head.

                “You’re hurting and you are under my care.”

                As she dug in her bag for the supplies she needed, Eliot saw the picture in Nate’s hand. “Wait, that looks like the CIA dude from that college job, Conrad.”

                “Agreed.  I wanted to see if you thought so, too,” Nate said.

                Kitty looked up at that point, having found the supplies she needed, and Eliot must have seen something in her face, because a hand shot out and grasped her arm in a grip like iron. He turned her to face him. He gazed at her for a long moment, trying to read her, but Doc Carrington wasn’t what she was for nothing, and he couldn’t tell what, if anything, was wrong. Finally, he reached up and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, and said, “Nate asked something of you, didn’t he?” He spoke to her, but his eyes were burning into Nate. Nate didn’t move, he simply stood, watching the exchange.

                She didn’t answer, she just turned away and started doing something, and he growled. “Damn it, Nate. When I can stand up, we’re gonna have a little talk about how I expect this team to treat my friends.”

                Turning back, with a smile, she laid a hand on his arm and said, “He asked no more than was necessary, and took nothing that wasn’t freely offered. I don’t have a problem with what was done, I just don’t like the way we had to do it. I’ll get over it. Now, get some sleep, my friend.” With those words, she injected him with the contents of the hypo in her hand, and then sat next to his bed until he faded off to sleep.

                “Thank you,” Nate said, softly, and then added, “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

                “No need to apologize. It helped, and it was necessary. Besides, despite my discomfort, I found it to be an interesting experiment, though not necessarily one I care to repeat anytime soon. Eliot is protective at the best of times, but he is especially so when he is injured and under the influence of drugs. He knows I can handle myself. He’ll come around.”


	2. Chapter 2

**_1 week ago…_ **

Eliot Spencer held his Air Marshall’s badge in his hand, running a thumb over its rough gold, engraved surface. It had served him well on at least one occasion with his crew, and on more than one individually. Eliot was a man with a reputation for getting things done, in whatever manner he had to do so. His job was to protect them, and not allowing any of them to know too much about his past was one of the ways he did so. Nobody ever seemed to want to know exactly how he did his job, and truth be told, he couldn’t blame them. He didn’t want to tell them, either.  His hands were dirty, and it was better for them if they didn’t know exactly how dirty. He was pulled from his thoughts by the descent of the plane, and he tucked the badge back into his pocket.

When the plane landed, he moved through the airport quickly and quietly, just as he had done a thousand times before, in a hundred different airports, making an effort to blend into the crowd, while careful not to draw their attention at the same time. A man with as many enemies as he had never knew when he might accidentally run into one of them. His deep blue eyes lit up as he gained the relative freedom of the concrete sidewalk, but they always did that when he was outdoors, or when he met a pretty girl. He walked the fifteen blocks to headquarters, where he promptly showered and changed. They all had rooms at the new headquarters. When he came downstairs, the rest of the team was assembled from their three months apart.

Nathan Ford, a man who had become his friend and then almost a brother to him in the five years they had worked together, nodded at him.

                “Nate,” he acknowledged. “How was Egypt?” Nate had taken his girlfriend, who commonly went by the name of Sophie, to visit the pyramids, and while there, they discovered that someone was trying to steal the ancestral jewels of one of Sophie’s aliases, and managed to stop the thieves. While Eliot didn’t know the whole story, he had managed to put most of it together from the information his sources brought to him. Even when he was away, he made it a priority to keep an eye on the other members of the team.

                “It was…nice. Very…nice. How did you pass the time while we were all apart?”

                Eliot gave a short bark that was somewhere between a laugh and a growl. “I visited some friends, did some odd jobs.” He knew that Nate knew what that meant. When the team was apart, Eliot usually split his time between helping his buddies still working with the US government or on rare occasions, working with some former acquaintances—either taking care of problems he had created or protecting those who had proven useful to himself or his team.

                Nate nodded, and then turned to the large screen in front of them, sliding into the chair next to him as he did so. Eliot followed suit.

                “Do we have a new client?” asked Alec Hardison.

                “Ask Eliot, he called this meeting,” Nate said, quietly.

                Hardison looked at Eliot, and when the hitter didn’t say anything, Hardison prompted him. “Eliot?”

                Eliot didn’t answer, exactly, he just reached over and took the remote from where it sat in front of Hardison, and clicking one of the buttons, pulled a picture up on the screen in front of them. A very pretty young woman with flaming red hair and eyes the colors of emerald and jade smiled back at them. Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he took out a folded white envelope. Eliot turned the envelope up and shook it. A folded piece of paper fell out, along with some sort of large, gold coin. Eliot palmed the coin and unfolded the paper. It was a hand drawn map. There were numbers written in the top left corner. Without speaking he passed the map to Nate. Turning his attention back to the face on the screen, he smiled and spoke for the first time.

“She’s someone I once knew. An old friend. Messenger delivered this to me this morning. If she’s contacting us through a messenger, that means she’s in trouble, and it is either too dangerous or physically impossible for her to get word to me in person.”

                “Who is this woman, and why does she call on you when she gets into trouble?”

                “Catherine Carrington. Goes by Kitty. She’s the only woman who ever completed special forces training with any branch of the US military, and she’s every bit as dangerous as I am, and probably more so. She called on me because I owe her a favor. Several in fact.”

                “That doesn’t make sense. I thought women weren’t allowed to serve in the special forces.”

                “They aren’t, but she wasn’t taking no for an answer. Her rank allowed her to access the training program, and she began training by herself, pushing harder and harder, day in and day out, until the day came when she could complete the program parameters almost a minute and a half faster than the best times listed in the regulations. Her intelligence tests were off the chart. It was then that she petitioned to join our unit. That left the powers that be with a quandary. They had a policy that women couldn’t serve in the special forces, but she was clearly more than qualified, and she was fairly well connected, with a grandfather who was an ex-SEAL and a rear admiral, and a father who was a commander. There would be no explaining this one away.

                “So, they threw every test they could conceive at her, and she passed them all but one. Even though males can fail up to two tests, and retake them twice, that gave them the excuse they needed. It was finally decided that she could join the unit, but could not serve in a combat role. So, she chose to become a field medic, attached to our unit. She saved each of us more than once, and earned the nickname Doc. We served together for fifteen years.  I haven’t seen her for almost ten years. While we were on R&R, she was taking tests and doing work to become a full fledged M.D. I’m telling you, Nate, she’s every bit as capable of caring for herself as I am, so if she needs my help, she must be in some pretty bad trouble.  She sent me a map of her location.

                 “So how do we do it?”

“We don’t. I can’t put any of you in that kind of danger. I’ll do it myself. I mainly wanted your help to prep this.”

“No.”

“Nate—“

“We’re a team, Eliot. If she asked for a rescue, and she’s as good as you say she is, it is bound to be a bad situation.” Nate gave Eliot a sidelong glance. “It will be easier if we all do it together. There’s a reason we make a great team.”

“You do realize that she’s connected with my past, which means we might come up against others connected with my past as well. That’s a fact you shouldn’t take lightly when making your decision.”

Nate looked around at the rest of the team, wanting to help, but knowing that if he was risking their lives, he needed to be sure everyone was on board. Each gave a slight nod, which he returned, then said, with a lopsided smile, “We’ll deal with that when, and if, the time comes.”

                “So how do we do it?” Parker asked.

                “I’m the retrieval specialist, and the only one of the group she knows. Best if I get her. Once she is free, we’ll both serve as backup for the team, unless she is injured. The rest of you do what you do, but stay as invisible as possible.  I want to be halfway home before they realize we are gone.”

                “What are these numbers?”  Sophie asked.

                “Those? Those are latitudinal and longitudinal designations. The North Koreans have her. Still want to come?”

                “Well, everybody, pack your bags. We leave in an hour. Hardison, tickets.”

“I’m on it,” the young hacker murmured, typing furiously.

“Well, then, let’s go steal the past,” Nate said, as he started upstairs.

****


	3. Chapter 3

**6 days ago…**

Eliot had once told Sophie that the thing he had to control was inside him, and as he sat quietly watching the guards below, waiting for his opportunity to slip in among them, he was glad she hadn’t ever pressed for the full truth of that statement. He knew that the worst monsters of all, those beyond our ability to imagine or contain, are the ones that live inside of us. Eliot had felt the monster in his own soul that day in the warehouse, when he was fighting for the safety of Nate and the Italian, and in a way, for his own safety, too. That monster had compelled him to do unspeakable things in the past, things for which there could be no salvation. He had been telling Sophie the truth that day in the ring, as he prepared to fight Tank. He had had to learn to control the monster, or else he risked being consumed by it. And he knew that he would much rather be its master than its servant.

He felt the stirrings of the great beast inside him once again, as he prepared to rescue one of his oldest and dearest friends, the friendship made the more dear by the things they had shared. The intel they had gathered told them that she was being held in a low, metal building which looked to be military in nature. Actually, it looked to be a relic left over from American military presence there. They had watched the building for three days, and had a good idea of the comings and goings of the guards. There were two standing guards all the time, who rotated in six hour shifts, and they were joined by one or two others at regular intervals during the day. Eliot decided it would be best to take them out when it was only the two. Of course, that meant getting her and getting out, before the other guards came to join the first two.

So, he settled in to his vantage point on a giant loft, of sorts, and sat watching the scene unfold. There was definitely someone being held, but no way to tell who it was from this distance. He climbed down and snuck quietly from tree to tree in the jungle, until he was right at the edge of the clearing in which the building sat.

He waited until one of the guards was on the other side of the building, and sneaking up behind the other, he choked him out. When he was unconscious, Eliot dragged him by his feet into the cover of the tree-line, tied him up, and hid him well. Then, he snuck slowly down into the meadow. He didn’t like sneaking into an open area like this, though he had done it before. It wasn’t a very defensible position. He wouldn’t leave her there, though.

Moments later, he left the cover of the tree line, and ducking his head, he sprinted for the center of the clearing to the building where his friend was being held. A moment later, he wrenched open the door of the building as quietly as possible, and threw himself inside, his hyper alert senses making his body tingle with anticipation. Only then did he realize that it was as dark as pitch. He stood still for a moment, and closed his eyes, trying to make the adjustment to seeing in the dark easier, but soon realizing it was hopeless with a darkness so profound that there were no shadows.

A moment later, his worst fears were confirmed, as three things happened at the same time. The heavy iron door he had wrenched open moments before slammed closed with a heart stopping clanking sound, the room was flooded in bright light, which blinded him temporarily, and he felt sturdy iron rings attached to chains close around his wrists and ankles. As his eyes adjusted to the bright light, he discovered that the room was empty. He knew someone had been tied up there earlier, and he had heard labored breathing when he first entered the room, which meant they had to have moved her. Eliot didn’t have much time to think about where they might have taken her, because an untold number of people surrounded him, obscuring his vision of the rest of the room, and he was frog marched out of the room.

He made a mental map of where they were taking him, counting his footsteps, and noting those obstacles he could see. He was blindfolded and gagged, but he felt the temperature dropping and determined that they had either moved outdoors or into a subterranean level of the building. After a number of twists and turns, they stopped. Eliot felt himself being stripped of his clothes, and then lifted onto a table. He tried to fight back, and found himself completely immobilized, arms and legs fastened to iron bars near the head and foot of the table. He forced himself to stay calm and assess the situation objectively, as his military training had taught him to do, but he couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped when he felt the shocking cold metal of the stethoscope, and realized he was being examined. Cruel laughter told him that the gasp had not gone unnoticed, and then he gagged as a tube was forced none too gently up his nose and down his throat, into his stomach. He stiffened as he felt the urinary catheter being inserted, and tried to breathe through the pain. He forced himself to stay relaxed, as he knew the damage that could be done if he didn’t. He grew lightheaded and lost track of his surroundings as needles pierced the skin of his arms and legs.

Eliot came back to himself to find that he was secured to a cold, metal bench. He suppressed a shiver, determined not to let them know that anything they were doing was having an effect on him, though he wasn’t sure he could keep that particular secret for long. He was radiating heat and his head felt strange. He couldn’t quite focus. Suddenly, he felt a blast of freezing water hit him as someone sprayed him down.

(0o0)

Over the comms, Hardison heard the metal door slam and his heart sank. Something had gone horribly wrong.

“Um, y’all, I think we have a problem.”

“We’re aware, Hardison. Stand by,” Sophie said.

A moment later, Nate’s voice sounded over the comms, telling them all to meet him outside. They needed to re-group. There would need to be some changes to the plan.

 


	4. Chapter 4

3 days ago…

Over the time of his detainment, Eliot’s torture took on a sort of routine. Mostly he was kept in a state of sensory deprivation, unless he was removed from that environment for another, more creative form of torture. During those times, he was subjected to electrical shocks, to being burned, beaten, and cut. He was also sometimes water-boarded or dunked into a bucket of water. The sensory deprivation made the rest worse, but at the same time, it was sometimes a relief not to have to feel the after effects of what had been done to him.

During the sensory deprivation, his normal state, his arms were suspended above his head, and there were restraints under his arms, holding him upright. They had gone numb, so now, he felt nothing above him, around him, or below him, except for the pressure from his own body weight pushing against abused joints, the chills from the fever that swept his body from the icy water that he was periodically doused with, and the pain from the catheter. They force fed him through the feeding tube, but either as a result of something they gave him or the illness consuming his body, he constantly felt nauseous, and even vomited a little, though he found himself having to choke it back down because of the gag.

The blindfold kept him from seeing anything, so the only sense he could really rely on was his hearing, and that was sometimes unreliable because of the sheer size of the building he was kept in, and how sounds bounced off of various objects in the room. If he had been allowed to stay conscious longer, he might have been able to get a decently accurate layout of the room by noting how the sound changed when it bounced off of metal or wood or plastic, and how far away it was. A combination of guards and sensors kept him stimulated enough to be on the edge of consciousness most of the time, and aware of what was being done to him. He guessed it made sense. Why bother to engage in sensory deprivation if the subject wasn’t conscious to be bothered by it?

The worst thing about sensory deprivation, in Eliot’s opinion, was that a person subjected to this treatment could never get a mental picture of what torture might be carried out when, and so, it was always a surprise—not so much what was happening, but when it would happen—and neither could they plan their own escape.  So, he became grateful for the brief stints of full awareness, although they were painful, because they re-assured him that none of the rest of the team was being held here with him (though that did little to reassure him that they hadn’t been captured or killed) and allowed him to turn his mind, however briefly, to his own escape.  It was during one of these times, as he assessed his own condition, that he decided he might be in a lot of trouble.

His mouth was dry, as though he had not had water in a very long time, and stomach acid had burned his esophagus from the vomit he had to fight down, so his throat was sore. Chills ran up and down his spine, and he radiated heat. He was constantly damp and cold from the icy dousings he endured, and the fact that he had been restrained without his clothes. He had burns on his chest and legs, and his back felt like the skin hung in ribbons, and stung like hundreds of bees from the whip they’d used on him earlier.

(0o0)

The rest of the team was in position, but Nate was worried that Parker might take off before he gave the sign, simply because she didn’t have it in her to wait any longer. This was Eliot they were talking about, and over the years, the two of them had developed a special relationship. Parker saw Eliot as a protective older brother, if somewhat stern, and he saw her as a sometimes annoying yet wonderfully loyal little sister.

Finally, when he was as sure as it was possible for him to be (not being Eliot) that they were safe and alone, he gave the word for them to go in. They had just entered the clearing in which the building sat, and Nate’s heart nearly stopped when he heard the distinctive sound of guns being cocked. Eliot could probably identify the gun from the sound it made, and that thought caused Nate a half smile, but the seriousness of the situation didn’t allow them more than that. The whole team was momentarily surrounded, and their view of the room was totally blocked. Parker tried to slip away, but the web of people surrounding them was too tight. They were well trained, and even her ability to fade in and out of scenery was no help to her now.

(0o0)

 Hardison heard what happened over the comms, and knew that he needed to find a way to break the others out. Before he had a chance to think too much about how to do that, the back door of the van opened, and he was staring down the barrels of several large and dangerous looking weapons, wielded by similarly large and dangerous looking people.

“Command center secure. Man in custody,” one of the nearest of them said into a shoulder comm., all the while keeping his gun leveled on Hardison.

“Confiscate the tech and meet us at HQ” was the answer that came back.

“Yes, sir.”

As Hardison was ‘escorted’ from the command center they had set up near the rescue site, he briefly wished he had asked Eliot to teach him some of the things he had been teaching Parker and Sophie. He almost whimpered as he saw one of his captors gathering up his laptop, his phone, and the extra earbuds. Without another word, they forced him from the command center at gun point, and roughly frog marched him out the door.

(0o0)

Nate winced as he felt the barrel of the rifle in his back. He moved forward, swept along by the crowd surrounding them, straining to see what he could of their environment and where they were being taken, but unable to see much of anything because of the people surrounding them.  They each had been blindfolded and handcuffed, and they were escorted back into the trees. Nate could feel leaves brush exposed skin, and occasional drops of water where the dew was beginning to rise. He heard Sophie’s  exclamation of surprise as she stumbled, and a low growl as she was caught and placed more or less back on her feet. That, combined with Parker’s little angry huffs at being caught and unable to escape, while doing nothing to reassure him of their safety, at least served to let him know the three of them had not been separated. They were forced to walk for about an hour up a steep hill with fairly rocky terrain before they reached some type of structure, which looked like an old hospital or prison. It was hard to tell which.  There weren’t any cells, per se, but there were iron shackles bolted to the walls and ceiling, as well as rows of beds and cabinets. They were led past all of that, and up two flights of stairs, into a very small room with a solid iron door, which contained only the smallest barred window allowing access to the outside world. The air in the room was stale. There was a single metal slab against the back wall, and a toilet in the corner. Their captors removed the blindfolds, but not the handcuffs, slamming the iron door behind them.

Taking in their surroundings, they all clearly understood one thing—there was really no way to escape while the door was closed—no air vents, no weaknesses in building structure, nothing they could find. They would simply have to wait until someone came to open the door again, and try to be ready when that happened.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Eliot had been lowered, and forced to walk to the room where he had been examined before. He felt himself forced down onto the cold, metal bench, and doused with water.  When that was done, he felt hard brushes scrubbing him all over with a disinfectant, and winced at the pain this was causing.  When they were finished, they marched him over to a higher metal table, lifted him up onto it, and secured him there with large metal shackles.  A moment later, he heard sadistic laughter, and then a voice he thought he recognized.

“Dr. Nguyen’s methods were ineffective. I was sent to take his place.”

“So far, he has not talked, and the boss wants to know exactly what information he has and how much he knows.”

“Oh, I can make him talk. Every man has his price. The secret to extracting information is finding a man’s price. For instance, this man won’t talk unless he is given a reason to do so—one that is more significant than pain. Pain is pain, but it seldom has a long-lasting effect.  No, his price would be something more meaningful. Likewise, torture has a limited efficacy. Torture too little, or in the wrong way, and you won’t get the information you seek. Torture too much, or too heavily, and the person will simply shut down before you are able to get any information. For instance, this man is feverish and weak. He is on the verge of collapse. If he does collapse, he will be unable to tell you what you wish to know.” She paused there for a moment, then took on an air of authority, and said, “Leave us.”

“We are under orders to stay.”

“Then stay outside. For this next part to be effective, it requires some privacy.”

The men stepped outside, glad to get away from their prisoner for a few moments. Stepping up beside the table, she rounded on him, with a look of warning in her eyes, and said loudly, “We have your team in custody. If you don’t tell us what we want to know, we will torture them next.”

He didn’t answer. Panic sloshed around inside him like a great tidal wave, but if what she said was true, his first and only priority right now was protecting the team. She assessed his injuries with an expert eye, and started drawing liquid into a syringe. Eliot’s vision was blurry, and the pain he felt was making it difficult to think clearly, but he was prepared to die before he told them anything useful.  As she came closer, finally fully facing him, he realized why her voice sounded familiar to him.

“Kat?” he said, barely above a whisper, and a look of betrayal flashed behind his eyes. He began fighting to free himself and simultaneously to get away from her. She walked over next to him, mindful that as weak as he was, he would still be dangerous, and catching one of his flailing arms in her own vice-like grip.

“Don’t fight this,” she said under her breath, as she injected him with the contents of the syringe. Loud enough for the guards outside to hear, she said, “This drug will have you chirping like a canary before sunset.” Through blurred vision, he looked at the vial of medication still in her hand. She didn’t realize she was holding it where he could see the name of the medicine it contained. Before he had time to process what it was she had given him, he felt himself giving in to the darkness that rose to meet him.

(0o0)

Parker was prowling the confines of the room they were being held in until none of them could stand it anymore. Nate called her over to him, and when she got there, he said, “you’ve been searching for a way out of here for the past two hours, and you haven’t found it. Come sit down for a few minutes, and let’s think this through. There has to be something we’re missing.” Reluctantly, she stopped her pacing and dropped into the chair next to him. A moment later, they heard a loud buzz, and the scrape of the heavy iron door as it slid open. An Asian man, who had barely reached middle age, walked in carrying a covered tray.

Before he had a chance to speak, Nate did. “Why are you holding us?”

The man’s English was good, but broken. “You talk to boss. I just bring lunch.”

He placed the tray carefully on the center of the table, and uncovered it. The food smelled heavenly.

“You eat. I tell boss you want to see.”

Hardison and Parker both helped themselves to bowls of soup and the water they were supplied, but Nate said, “Wait. We need to think about this. What would Eliot say if we ate something of which we don’t know the origins or contents?”

They all froze, knowing Eliot wouldn’t like it one bit, and also realizing they’d seldom seen him eat anything he hadn’t bought or prepared himself, or seen prepared by one of them. Finally, practicality won out, and Parker said, “We don’t know how long we’re going to be held here. I think if they were going to kill us, they’d have done so when they had the chance back in that clearing. And we’ll need to keep our strength up. We don’t know what condition Eliot will be in when he is rescued. I plan to be strong enough to help him.”

Thinking for a moment, Nate finally nodded. They each helped themselves to a bowl of the hot soup and some water. It was tasty, and chased away the chill. Nate only hoped they’d made the right choice, but he agreed with Parker’s assessment of the situation.  When they finished, they stacked the bowls neatly back on the tray, and covered it with the cloth the Asian man had left.

The team was holding a whispered conference, making plans, when the doors opened again, and an American man, whom they didn’t recognize, entered and stood before them, glaring at each one in turn.  Looking squarely at Nate, he asked in a lethal voice that was just above a whisper, “Nathan Ford, I am Major Anthony Kenwood of the US military. Do you have any idea why you and your team were apprehended?”

“No, I don’t.”  
“Well then, allow me to explain. Your presence here jeopardizes a joint operation of two or more branches of the US military, an operation that is top secret and classified. Therefore, I can give you no further information about the mission. If you and your team are cooperative, you will not be prosecuted, but you will not be released until the mission is finished for your own protection, and in the hope of avoiding a potential hostage situation involving the capture of you or any of your team. You may consider yourselves being held for questioning in a military operation, and your presence in this room will prohibit any possibility of your team further compromising this mission. The guards are under orders to make you as comfortable as possible, and so long as you stay here and cooperate with their questions, to treat you as guests. If you choose to be uncooperative, you will be moved to separate cells down in the jail for the duration of this mission. Any questions?”

“Who gave the orders to hold us here?”

“That’s classified.”

(0o0)

When Eliot awoke hours later, he was still in the infirmary, and his body was riddled with pain. His head was clearer and so was his vision. He was restrained to a cot, and as he examined his injuries, he thought back to what had happened before he lost consciousness. _Was it really Kat he saw? That would mean that she had betrayed him, and the US military. Why? And why would she ask for a rescue? His thoughts were still a bit sluggish from the days and nights of torture and captivity, but he finally hit upon the reason that had been swirling around in the back of his mind since he saw her. It was a trap. She called for a rescue to get him here. For what purpose?_  Eliot shook himself. Those thoughts were making his head hurt. It seemed that Catherine Carrington had betrayed both him and the oath she took to the United States, but he couldn’t fathom why she would do such a thing. The only thing he could do was wait and watch for her to reveal the reason to him. If she wanted him involved in this, he had no doubt that she would reveal the reason in her own time. His eyes drifted downwards to his body, assessing his injuries now that his mind was clear. His fists were clenched, and he made a conscious effort to unclench them. When he did so, he found a slip of paper in his right hand. He painstakingly unrolled the paper, careful not to drop it, and a hint of surprise colored his features as he read the six words written there.

_Order 78 is now in effect._

He struggled to get his abused brain to process this information, and give him some idea of whether this was good or bad. It could be either, or both.  A wave of panic washed over him, and he ruthlessly pushed it aside, to be dealt with later.

Then, suddenly, the thing he thought he had forgotten slammed into his conscious memory like a runaway torpedo. _The team. What had happened to them? Were they alive? Had they been captured at the same time he was?_  He struggled against his bindings like a madman, but he was bound past all hope of escape. All he could do was think and try to make sense of all of this, and come up with a plan to escape, and then rescue the team if needed. He needed to make a plan, but he needed more information. He kept coming back to the same place. _What the hell was Order 78?_


	6. Chapter 6

She walked back into the room where Eliot rested and without speaking, she put a hand on his forehead.

  
“Good. You aren’t as feverish as you were.”

  
“What is Order 78?” he asked her, his voice raspy from disuse.

“Shhh. Just try to relax. Close your eyes, Eliot.”

“No.”

  
“What?”

  
“I can’t stop what you’re doin’, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna help ya.”

  
“All right. If that’s the way you want it, fine.” She drew liquid in a syringe, and injected him with it. As his eyes slipped closed, she started speaking quietly.

  
(0o0)

Snatches of sound became voices as Eliot floated back toward consciousness. The first thing he realized he felt was that he was at least partially dressed. Moments later, the voices turned into a passionate conversation—almost an argument.

  
“I’m telling you, there has to be more.” This was the voice of a man Eliot didn’t recognize. He knew that voice. Right now he couldn’t put a face with a name, though.

  
“And you got your medical degree from where, exactly? There’s nothing more. You brought me here to make him talk, and I’ve done that. Question him yourself, if you don’t believe me.” She held something out to him.

  
“I recorded the session.”

  
“Well then, I have no further use for him. Or for you.”

  
He snapped his fingers and she watched in horror as two guards each drew their guns, and a dozen shots rang out in quick succession. As she stood watching, with a mild look of shock, two men moved up beside her, and she felt a searing pain as something hard struck her across the skull, and the blackness rose up to meet her.

  
(0o0)

The Asian man who had brought the team their meals for the past three days, unlocked the door to the room they were being held in, and pushed it aside. He was accompanied by four guards. Without a word, the teams’ hands and feet were shackled, they were blindfolded, and marched out of the room and into a vehicle waiting outside. They rode for more than an hour over rough roads and rocky terrain. When the rattletrap van they were riding in finally came to a stop, all of them were stiff from being jostled around. The guards hustled them out and prodded them forward at gunpoint, forcing them to walk as best they could while shackled together. The guards prodded them up a steep hill, on an unassuming dirt trail. If they had been able to see where they were going, it wouldn’t have helped them, as they wouldn’t have thought they were being taken anywhere significant anyway. There was nothing but grass, flowers, and dirt as far as a person could see.

  
Finally, they reached the top of the hill, and the trail they were on opened out into a large flat space with the painted markings of an airfield. Though they could see nothing, Nate could hear the blades of a large helicopter. They were pushed inside, and the doors were roughly closed behind them. The chopper took off, taking them Heaven knows where. Nate sighed. There was nothing to be done now until they landed.

  
(0o0)

Kitty woke up to the sensation of something cold and wet hitting her methodically on top of the head—thunk, thunk, thunk. Opening her eyes, she discovered she was tied to a tree, in the pouring rain, and soaking wet. She couldn’t stop shivering. The building was nowhere in sight, so she had no idea where she was. She shoved the discomfort she was feeling ruthlessly aside, and tried to get away from the freezing water.

  
Suddenly, the events that took place right before she lost consciousness came flooding back, and she began struggling against the ropes tying her to the tree. She needed to find out if Eliot was all right, or even alive. She kept replaying the shooting in her mind, and she had to admit that it didn’t look good for him. She started to feel an overwhelming sadness, but shoved it aside. She would deal with that later. The priority now was to secure her freedom, and try to find out what happened to Eliot.  
She was tied too securely to slip out of the hemp ropes, and she was tied in such a way that she couldn’t use the bark of the tree to cut the ropes, so she wiggled her body down until one of the ropes covered her mouth, and she started to chew. The process took awhile, but she was eventually able to free herself. Obviously, these people weren’t professionals. Professionals would never have tied her with rope she could chew through, but if they weren’t part of the North Korean government, or the military, who were they?

  
She used the survival training she had learned in the military to try to start figuring out where she was. Using the moss growing on the trees, and the relative position of the sun overhead, she managed to determine that it was late afternoon, but already getting dark, and when she began looking closely, she found the tracks where they had dragged her here. They came from the South, and she started moving back in that direction.

  
She had walked for about twenty minutes, if what she was doing could actually be called walking. She was really stumbling along like she was drunk, off balance and wobbly, and as a result, she was having to stop frequently and rest, in order not to make too much noise moving through the forest. She was leaning against a rock, resting, wishing she had the equipment to collect and purify rainwater—equipment she would have with her under normal circumstances. While she was resting, she heard a soft groan, so low she wasn’t sure she actually heard anything. Looking around, and seeing nothing, she began pushing one foot out in front of her as she walked, nudging through the leaves and other underbrush on the forest floor, searching for the source of the noise.

  
Finally, she found Eliot, battered and bloody, and so cold, but alive. If they could reach the river, she knew of an abandoned hut where they could hole up for a few days, and she could check in. Placing a hand on his chest, she whispered soft words of reassurance, and then she reached down and hooked Eliot under the arms, eliciting a louder groan from him and causing him to pass out. Muttering apologies under her breath, she began dragging him through the forest.

  
She had to stop much more often with Eliot in tow, and each time she stopped, she had to make sure they were well-hidden and cover their tracks. So, it took most of the night for her to get them both to the hut, and be sure they were safe. The temperature was below freezing when she woke up, but now it was far below freezing. Both were wet and half frozen. The hut had no heat or electricity, so all it would really do was keep the wind off of them. She couldn’t see to treat Eliot’s injuries, so she would try to keep him comfortable, and hope he made it through the night. She covered him with the two small, thin blankets she found in the hut, and settled in beside him, with the idea of keeping him warm. She sighed. It was going to be a long night.


	7. Chapter 7

She walked back into the room where Eliot rested and without speaking, she put a hand on his forehead.

“Good. You aren’t as feverish as you were.”

“What is Order 78?” he asked her, his voice raspy from disuse.

“Shhh. Just try to relax. Close your eyes, Eliot.”

“No.”

“What?”

“I can’t stop what you’re doin’, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna help ya.”

“All right. If that’s the way you want it, fine.” She drew liquid in a syringe, and injected him with it. As his eyes slipped closed, she started speaking quietly.

(0o0 )

Snatches of sound became voices as Eliot floated back toward consciousness. The first thing he realized he felt was that he was at least partially dressed. Moments later, the voices turned into a passionate conversation—almost an argument.

“I’m telling you, there has to be more.” This was the voice of a man Eliot didn’t recognize. He knew that voice. Right now he couldn’t put a face with a name, though.

“And you got your medical degree from where, exactly? There’s nothing more. You brought me here to make him talk, and I’ve done that. Question him yourself, if you don’t believe me.” She held something out to him.

“I recorded the session.”

“Well then, I have no further use for him. Or for you.”

He snapped his fingers and she watched in horror as two guards each drew their guns, and a dozen shots rang out in quick succession. As she stood watching, with a mild look of shock, two men moved up beside her, and she felt a searing pain as something hard struck her across the skull, and the blackness rose up to meet her. 

(0o0)

The Asian man who had brought the team their meals for the past three days, unlocked the door to the room they were being held in, and pushed it aside. He was accompanied by four guards. Without a word, the teams’ hands and feet were shackled, they were blindfolded, and marched out of the room and into a vehicle waiting outside.

They rode for more than an hour over rough roads and rocky terrain. When the rattletrap van they were riding in finally came to a stop, all of them were stiff from being jostled around. The guards hustled them out and prodded them forward at gunpoint, forcing them to walk as best they could while shackled together. The guards prodded them up a steep hill, on an unassuming dirt trail. If they had been able to see where they were going, it wouldn’t have helped them, as they wouldn’t have thought they were being taken anywhere significant anyway. There was nothing but grass, flowers, and dirt as far as a person could see.

Finally, they reached the top of the hill, and the trail they were on opened out into a large flat space with the painted markings of an airfield. Though they could see nothing, Nate could hear the blades of a large helicopter. They were pushed inside, and the doors were roughly closed behind them. The chopper took off, taking them Heaven knows where. Nate sighed. There was nothing to be done now until they landed.

(0o0)

Kitty woke up to the sensation of something cold and wet hitting her methodically on top of the head— _thunk, thunk, thunk._ Opening her eyes, she discovered she was tied to a tree, in the pouring rain, and soaking wet. She couldn’t stop shivering. The building was nowhere in sight, so she had no idea where she was. She shoved the discomfort she was feeling ruthlessly aside, and tried to get away from the freezing water.

Suddenly, the events that took place right before she lost consciousness came flooding back, and she began struggling against the ropes tying her to the tree. She needed to find out if Eliot was all right, or even alive. She kept replaying the shooting in her mind, and she had to admit that it didn’t look good for him. She started to feel an overwhelming sadness, but shoved it aside. She would deal with that later. The priority now was to secure her freedom, and try to find out what happened to Eliot.

She was tied too securely to slip out of the hemp ropes, and she was tied in such a way that she couldn’t use the bark of the tree to cut the ropes, so she wiggled her body down until one of the ropes covered her mouth, and she started to chew. The process took awhile, but she was eventually able to free herself. Obviously, these people weren’t professionals. Professionals would never have tied her with rope she could chew through, but if they weren’t part of the North Korean government, or the military, who were they?

She used the survival training she had learned in the military to try to start figuring out where she was. Using the moss growing on the trees, and the relative position of the sun overhead, she managed to determine that it was late afternoon, but already getting dark, and when she began looking closely, she found the tracks where they had dragged her here. They came from the South, and she started moving back in that direction.

She had walked for about twenty minutes, if what she was doing could actually be called walking. She was really stumbling along like she was drunk, off balance and wobbly, and as a result, she was having to stop frequently and rest, in order not to make too much noise moving through the forest.  She was leaning against a rock, resting, wishing she had the equipment to collect and purify rainwater—equipment she would have with her under normal circumstances. While she was resting, she heard a soft groan, so low she wasn’t sure she actually heard anything. Looking around, and seeing nothing, she began pushing one foot out in front of her as she walked, nudging through the leaves and other underbrush on the forest floor, searching for the source of the noise.

Finally, she found Eliot, battered and bloody, and so cold, but alive. If they could reach the river, she knew of an abandoned hut where they could hole up for a few days, and she could check in. Placing a hand on his chest, she whispered soft words of reassurance, and then she reached down and hooked Eliot under the arms, eliciting a louder groan from him and causing him to pass out. Muttering apologies under her breath, she began dragging him through the forest.

She had to stop much more often with Eliot in tow, and each time she stopped, she had to make sure they were well-hidden and cover their tracks. So, it took most of the night for her to get them both to the hut, and be sure they were safe. The temperature was below freezing when she woke up, but now it was far below freezing. Both were wet and half frozen. The hut had no heat or electricity, so all it would really do was keep the wind off of them. She couldn’t see to treat Eliot’s injuries, so she would try to keep him comfortable, and hope he made it through the night. She covered him with the two small, thin blankets she found in the hut, and settled in beside him, with the idea of keeping him warm. She sighed. It was going to be a long night.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Nate wondered where they were going. He knew that helicopters can’t fly forever without refueling, and that was where their chance would come. He looked over at Parker, and their eyes met. She nodded, almost imperceptibly. She was already out of her handcuffs, and Nate was planning on surprising them with that fact as soon as they stopped.

As it happened, they never got the chance. As soon as the helicopter was approaching the landing pad, they were surrounded again and given tranquilizers that knocked them out. As the darkness consumed them, Nate wondered whether their captors were planning for that particular contingency or if they just weren’t taking any chances.

(0o0)

Nate woke later, long enough to realize they were on an airplane. When he woke again, they were all in some sort of infirmary, judging by the looks of things. There was a row of metal cots, lined up on one wall, and a row of cabinets with a small sink on the other. He glanced over to see the rest of the team, still sleeping, on the other cots. Discovering that he wasn’t restrained in any way, Nate sat up and looked around. They were alone in the room. He moved toward the door, and looked out the small, tempered glass window. The room outside seemed to do double duty as a dispensary and an office. A large, metal desk sat in the center of one end of the room, and glass-fronted cabinets lined the walls. There were two small refrigerators on either end of the room, with a counter in between.  A person sat at the desk outside, and apparently feeling Nate’s eyes, turned and looked. Seeing him in the window, the young man rose and came to the door. Walking inside, he put his stethoscope to his ears and proceeded to examine each of them. 

“Why are we here?”

“I can’t give you that information. I’ll ask the doctor to explain when I make it known that you’re awake.”

Nate nodded. The young man asked if he needed anything, and then excused himself. Nate settled in to wait for the doctor. One by one the rest of the team woke up, and they were all gathered, facing one another, on two of the cots, talking quietly, when the door opened again. A collective gasp passed between them, and then they parted slightly, and Nate saw what the rest of the team was seeing.

“Doc Carrington?”

She nodded to each of them in turn, and then turned to Nate. “May I see you in the office?”

He nodded and followed her in. She pulled the door closed behind her, and led him over to the other side of the room, where she proceeded to talk to him under the guise of examining him.  “I’m sorry it took me so long to get in here to talk to you. Our chopper just got in, and I had to get Eliot situated first.”

“You have Eliot? Can we see him?”

“At the moment, I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s in pretty bad shape, and I know him well enough to know that he won’t want anyone to see him until we get him cleaned up. I trust my people made you comfortable here?”

“Wait, it was your men who kidnapped us?”

She held up a hand. “Patience. Explanations will come later. First things first. Are any of you injured?”

“No.”

“Good. That’ll make what’s to come easier.”  
“What do you mean?”

“We’ll have to move soon. We managed to fool those who were holding Eliot for a while, but it won’t be long before they put it together, at least partially, and because I was there, this is the first place they’ll come looking.”

“So why stop here, if you know this is the first place they’ll look?”

“I wanted to start the process of getting Eliot warmed up. His core temperature is low, and if it stays this low for too long, it can cause some serious problems for him. It could even kill him. I’m not willing to take that chance. We’ve wrapped him in some warming blankets, and we’re giving him fluids. A couple of my medics are getting him ready to travel, and then we’ll be going somewhere off the grid until we figure this out. We’ll have him loaded in about fifteen minutes. Can you and your team be ready to go by then?”

“We’re ready now.”

“I’ll come back and get you when we have Eliot loaded. I’ll explain everything when we’re safe and settled. It’s going to be a fairly long trip. Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I’ll have the kitchen send up some sandwiches. We’ll leave as soon as you’ve eaten.”

Fifteen minutes later, the team was boarding the plane with Doc and two of her medics. One of them immediately disappeared behind a curtained area toward the rear of the plane. Doc made sure everyone was strapped in, and then signaled the pilot that they were ready for takeoff.

(0o0)

_Later, it could have been minutes or hours, he had no way to tell, he became aware of liquid fire stabbing at every inch of his body, and for a moment, the part of him that had been raised a believer wondered if he had awakened in Hell. Though he understood none of it, the cadence that surrounded him spoke of an urgent, disciplined activity, undertaken with restlessness and military precision. Sensing that he was in a place of safety, though he couldn’t marshal enough coherent thought to actually say why, he felt his body giving back in, and he once again slept the deep sleep of exhaustion._

_Still later, he awoke again, to a different kind of fire. This time, it was dry, and more pleasantly warm than hot, but his nerve endings still screamed in remembered pain, and every muscle in his body ached. He felt something on his face that reminded him of the hot towels available before a straight-razor shave at an old fashioned barber shop, and struggled to open his eyes. They seemed to be glued shut._

_“Just a minute,” said a strong, feminine voice. He felt the hot towel swipe at his eyes, wiping the sleep away gently. Finally, the voice spoke again. “Now try to open them.”_

_When he did what he was told, the scene was blurred, and he couldn’t make out anything. He quickly closed them again, and the hand on his shoulder and the voice in his ear told him to relax and wait a moment longer before trying again. Again he felt the hot towel wiping at his eyes. When he finally opened them again, a woman with flaming red hair and eyes the color of emeralds looked back at him from a face he hadn’t seen in over ten years. He felt the disorientation, like the world had turned upside down._

_“Redheads burn the hottest,” he said._

_He heard refined laughter, which sounded like the tinkling of a dozen small bells, and she said, “Eliot Spencer, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that because you’re injured, and may be sick, and also likely still a bit groggy from your ordeal.”_

_Embarrassment crept up his face as he realized just where it was he knew this woman to whom he was speaking from._

_“Sorry,” he mumbled, and tried to sit up._

_She put out a hand to stop him. “Don’t. We’re still getting you cleaned up, and you don’t need to start bleeding again.” Producing a hypo from somewhere, she injected him with a local anesthesia, and after giving it a few minutes to take effect, she started stitching up the gunshot wounds. He lay there, stoically silent, until she had to dig one bullet out from where it was lodged against the bone. In his condition, she couldn’t give him anything stronger than the local he had already taken, and so she wouldn’t have blamed him in the least had he felt the need to scream, but all he did was grunt as the bullet was removed. When she was finished, he held out his hand to her, and she helped him sit up, and propped some pillows behind him.  When she finished, she went about the business of bandaging his wounds._

_“Are you hungry?”  she asked, pressing a bottle into his hand and helping him drink._

_“No,” he said._

_She indicated the water bottle in his hand. “All right, then. This, plus the IV, will help to counter the blood loss, so I will expect you to drink it all.”_

_“I was supposed to be rescuing you,” he said, disbelief coloring his features as the thought occurred to him._

_“Rescuing me? From what?”_

_Suddenly, he sat bolt upright, grimacing at the pain that movement caused, and said, “My team! Did you call them?”_

_“If you are meaning Nathan Ford and the rest of that team, then yes. They are camped out downstairs. Mr. Ford and Mr. Hardison helped me get you up here, but Nate told me that you might not want the rest of the team to see what cleaning you up looked like, so they agreed to wait until I got you cleaned up, bandaged, and dressed to come and see you.” With those words, she handed him a button up shirt and a clean pair of jeans. “While you get dressed, I will go and deliver the news to your team that you’ll live, and allow them a short visit. Then I want you to sleep and gain some strength. Tomorrow is soon enough to talk about the mission.”_

_She helped him work his arms into the sleeves of the shirt, and then left him to himself while she went downstairs to report to the team._

_(0o0)_

_Her hitter friend was still sleeping when she came back upstairs an hour later.  As she pulled the cover back to check on him, a pair of startling blue eyes met hers._

_“Hi Sweetheart,” he said, giving her the smile that would make most women do just about anything for him._

_She smiled back. “How are you feeling?”_

_“Ain’t gonna lie,” he grunted. “I’m hurting.” She was, perhaps, the only person to whom he would freely admit that. It had always been that way, maybe because she knew him well enough to know when he was telling the truth, and maybe because she was a doctor so he couldn’t quite hide it from her._

_Just then, Nate came into the room, carrying the drawing. She had her back to him, conversing with her patient._

_“Well, you’re not in shock anymore. I’ll get you some morphine.” Nate moved up to the other side of Eliot’s bed, just as he spoke up._

_“I don’t wan—” he started, but she cut him off, with a quick shake of her head._

_“You’re hurting and you are under my care.”_

_As she dug in her bag for the supplies she needed, Eliot saw the picture in Nate’s hand. “Wait, that looks like the CIA dude from that college job, Conrad.”_

_“Agreed.  I wanted to see if you thought so, too,” Nate said._

_Kitty looked up at that point, having found the supplies she needed, and Eliot must have seen something in her face, because a hand shot out and grasped her arm in a grip like iron. He turned her to face him. He gazed at her for a long moment, trying to read her, but Doc Carrington wasn’t what she was for nothing, and he couldn’t tell what, if anything, was wrong. Finally, he reached up and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, and said, “Nate asked something of you, didn’t he?” He spoke to her, but his eyes were burning into Nate. Nate didn’t move, he simply stood, watching the exchange._

_She didn’t answer, she just turned away and started doing something, and he growled. “Damn it, Nate. When I can stand up, we’re gonna have a little talk about how I expect this team to treat my friends.”_

_Turning back, with a smile, she laid a hand on his arm and said, “He asked no more than was necessary, and took nothing that wasn’t freely offered. I don’t have a problem with what was done, I just don’t like the way we had to do it. I’ll get over it. Now, get some sleep, my friend.” With those words, she injected him with the contents of the hypo in her hand, and then sat next to his bed until he faded off to sleep._

_“Thank you,” Nate said, softly, and then added, “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”_

_“No need to apologize. It helped, and it was necessary. Besides, despite my discomfort, I found it to be an interesting experiment, though not necessarily one I care to repeat anytime soon. Eliot is protective at the best of times, but he is especially so when he is injured and under the influence of drugs. He knows I can handle myself. He’ll come around.”_


	9. Chapter 9

“I have to ask you, Doc—if you didn’t ask Eliot for a rescue, why were you there?”

“Same reason you all were. I was in England, helping out our neighbors with some medical training of new military medics, when I received Vance’s bronze star, in an envelope with a slip of paper that had coordinates written on it. That’s a long standing code among the three of us—if one person needs help, he or she sends something to one of the others, something unique to that person, so that we can identify it, and we’ll gather the troupes and go to the rescue.”

“How did you know it was Vance’s?”

“Vance’s bronze star is bent almost double and missing an end, where it was hit with an armor piercing bullet while he was on field assignment. He replaced the one he wears on his dress  uniform, but most of us hang on to the ones with the scars—I guess they become a sort of good luck charm.  I know what it looks like because I was there when it happened.  I knew when the mission was over, we’d be flying back in via the west coast, and that was why I sent Eliot the note I sent him—I had planned to fly into Portland, take care of the personal business I had with Eliot, and then catch a flight back to England from there. My work there isn’t yet finished.”

“I didn’t see anything special about your special forces medallion, so how would Eliot have known it was yours? Do you all send something unique?”

She laughed. “Most of the time we do, but we didn’t want to limit the code to something distinctive in the event that we ended up in a situation where we had nothing distinctive on us to send. That turned out to be a good practice.”  She held the medallion out to Nate, back side up. “See the pink tinge there?”

“Yes.”

“That’s blood from one or the other of them…I used to keep the medallion in the pocket of a field vest I wore, and on that particular mission, I was engaged in hand to hand combat with a guerrilla with a machete, and he tried to slice through the front of my body. I backed out of the way, but the knife caught the pocket the coin was in, and it dropped down, onto one of them, who was lying on a gurney below me. When I got it back, it had a crack in the glass and the smallest of pink tinges to it.”

“What does Eliot send to you when he needs help?” Nate asked, fascinated.

“That’s a question for him,” she said, lightly.

 “Speaking of questions—can you give us those explanations you promised us now? “

“Yes, if you’ll have everyone gather up here. I don’t want to leave Eliot for long, and chances are good that I’ll have to leave for a while, before I really should. Best we’re prepared for that.”

(0o0)

The team was gathered in the room Eliot was sleeping in, while Doc sat next to his bed, facing them. “I don’t know much, but I’ll give you the information I have.” She paused, taking in the room. “I received a message from Vance, and went to North Korea, planning to help him escape or rescue him or whatever he needed me to do. But he wasn’t there when I got there. There was evidence that he had been there, so I hid out and started watching the coordinates Vance gave me, to try to find out what I could. I saw Eliot sneak in, and thought Vance had brought him in as well, until he was taken. I wondered if Eliot had involved you all, though it isn’t something he does often where Vance is involved.”

“How did you find out that we were here?”

“My people are very good at what they do. Two of them had infiltrated the team holding Eliot, and when the chopper stopped to re-fuel, we were there waiting for it. We intercepted it, got you all onto the jet Vance had requisitioned, and ran back toward our own territory.”

“So, what’s next?”

“Judging by the composite sketches you have, it looks like Conrad is involved. My best guess would be that he called all of us together in order to try to get revenge for what we did to him last year. Watch yourselves. If that is what happened, he’ll be trying again. With your permission, I’ll call in some colleagues for backup, as needed. Eliot’s going to need some time to recover, and at some point, I’m going to have to be out of pocket for a little while. “

“One last question—what mission were you assisting Vance with?”

“I am not at liberty to share that information. It’s a classified mission, under Top Secret seals.”

“I see,” Nate said, and she could tell he wasn’t exactly happy to hear that. Casting around to change the subject, she said, “Everyone should get cleaned up. If anyone needs treatment, I’ll be here. After that, we have work to do.”

(0o0)

Two hours later, she was cleaning up the treatment room in which Eliot was resting, when his eyes popped open. He stayed perfectly still until he got his bearings, and then he turned his head ever so slightly and said, very quietly, “Kat.”

“Well, well, well. Sleeping beauty’s awake finally.”

Eliot let out a chuckle and then grimaced as the pain caught up with him. Memories slammed into him of the time when he was being held.

“You dare show your face here? After you sold us out?”

“Eliot, I didn’t sell anyone out. You were sick from the torture and under the influence of drugs and you didn’t see what you think you saw. That’s why I mentioned Order 78. It was supposed to let you know I was on your side, and working to rescue you.”

“Order 78. What the hell is Order 78?”

“You used to know. Hell, it was your idea.”

“Kat!” he growled, in exasperation.

“All right. Order 78 is a code you created a long time ago. The beauty of it is that it can mean anything you wish for it to mean. There is no Order 78, but most other people don’t know that.” She reached out and helped Eliot sit up, propping pillows behind his back. She put the water bottle back in his hand. “Now, drink up. And you need to eat something to regain your strength. I’ll bring you some soup.”

Eliot nodded, leaning back against the pillows and closing his eyes. Softly, he said, “Thanks, Kat.”

“Don’t thank me yet. When you’re stronger, we’ll have some work to do—work you probably won’t enjoy very much.”

Eliot just grunted, not opening his eyes. Kat did what Kat did, much like a hurricane or a tornado, and as far as he was concerned, resisting her was about as smart as walking out into the middle of a natural disaster, naked. In either case, the resistance wouldn’t last long.

A moment later, she spoke again. “Hold still.” Gripping his hand in hers, she slid the needle into the vein at the crook of his elbow, drawing a blood sample. When she finished, she set her materials aside, and slipped downstairs to make his soup.


	10. Chapter 10

Doc had been so busy trying to escape with Eliot, having to be warmed up herself, and then taking care of Eliot and the rest of his team, that she hadn’t really had time over the last few days to care for her own needs. It hardly mattered. This was the life she had chosen. But now, the treatment room and makeshift office was spotless,  the evening meal was finished, and the rest of Eliot’s team had come in to sit with him, so she felt that she could step into the next room for a few minutes to take a shower. As she stepped out, Sophie rose and followed. The grifter caught up with her around the corner, and spoke in a low voice.

“I noticed you only brought a small bag, and most of that seems to be medical supplies. You don’t have any luggage, do you?”

Doc smiled, wondering where the other woman was going with this. “You’re very observant. I don’t travel with luggage. None of us do. In our line of work, we learn quickly to travel light, bringing only what we can carry.”

Sophie nodded. Eliot never traveled with luggage either, and when she had seen him with a suitcase or a bag, it was because it was a prop, necessary to sell the con. “I just know when I shower, I love the feeling that comes with clean clothes. You probably don’t find it necessary, but I’m happy to lend you something to wear if you’d like. We look to be about the same size.”

Doc thought for a moment, imagining the type of sleepwear that Sophie might bring her. “It isn’t necessary,” she said, and Sophie’s face fell. “But that’s a very nice offer and I would certainly appreciate it,” she added, smiling widely, then continued, “Do you have something that isn’t too frilly or revealing? I’ll probably be sitting with Eliot most of the night.”

Now it was Sophie’s turn to smile, as she said, “Oh, I think I can find something. I’ll bring it in.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Sophie moved off happily, in search of night wear for Doc. In the end, she brought in a brightly colored pair of sweatpants she used when training with Eliot, and a long sleeved t-shirt. Doc thanked her, then turned the water in the shower as hot as it would go, and went about the process of undressing herself. She checked her own injuries to see how they were healing, starting with her legs and working her way upwards. When she took off both of the shirts she was wearing, she stretched her arms out to look at the frostbite damage on her fingers, and she noticed a black band around the middle of her lower arm. It fit tightly enough not to move around, but not tightly enough that she could feel it. It seemed to be some sort of bracelet, though she couldn’t figure out what it was made of, it had no design of any kind, and there was no way to take it off.

Making a mental note to see if she could find out what it was later, she climbed into the shower, and spent the next half hour scrubbing every part of her body clean. She had had no intention of staying in that long, but once she got in there, and felt the hot water beating down, her exhaustion caught up with her, and she just stood, letting the water wash over her.  She finally turned off the water, dressed, toweled her shoulder length hair dry, and combed it, leaving it spread about her shoulders so that it would dry properly.

When she walked back in to check on Eliot, the rest of the team was still sitting with him, speaking quietly.  She looked at Alec Hardison, busy on his laptop, and an idea occurred to her.

“Mister Hardison,” she said quietly, “I need your help with something.”

“Sure,” the hacker replied, barely looking up from his computer screen.

“I need to know what this is.” She pushed her sleeve up to show the black bracelet. Nate looked at it with fascination and nodded to Hardison when he caught the younger man looking to him to approve the request. Hardison began typing furiously.

“Where did you get that?” Nate asked mildly.

“I’m not sure. I would assume it’s a gift from the North Koreans, or our Mister Conrad, since that’s who brought us both to North Korea. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I need to know what it is and what it does.”

“I found it,” Hardison said, voice carefully controlled. He refused to look at her. “I can’t tell you what it does, though.”

She took in his horrified expression, and there was steel in her voice when she said, “I can take whatever you tell me.  Tell me, Mister Hardison.”

“No, I can’t hack in.”

Now it was Nate’s turn to look horrified. “What do you mean, you can’t hack in?”

“I can’t. Every time I write a line of code, it is erased. Gone. And even if I could hack it, I’m not sure we could decode it. This isn’t your standard encryption. It isn’t even Justice Department standard. It’s a step or two above that. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’m sorry. There’s nothing more I can do.”

“Keep trying. Doc’s right, we need to know what it is.”

“If the code is disappearing, it is likely that the program also records the attempts. If I keep trying, they’ll be able to triangulate a location for us.”

“I see. On to plan B then.” He rose and started rummaging in the desk drawer.

“Plan B?” Doc asked.

“If we can’t figure out what it does, we can at least dispose of it, so it is no longer a problem.” He straightened up and turned around, holding a pair of scissors in his hands.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea to take it off without knowing what it does. But, on the other hand—”

He slid one blade of the scissors under the plastic-like band, and closed the other on top of it. A jolt of electricity shot through the band, the scissors, and both of them, throwing Doc backwards and catching Nate in the closed circuit, until the connection was broken when Doc flew far enough away to break the hold. Doc rose gingerly, and moved over to Nate, who was in the process of sitting up.

“Are you all right, Mr. Ford?”

He nodded. “You were right. It wasn’t a good idea to try to remove it.”

About that time, they heard a growl from the direction of the cot, “Could you people be a little louder please? It’s not like there’s an injured person who might wake up over here or anything,” he groused.

“Well, welcome back, Senor Cranky-Pants,” she said, smiling as she made her way to his side. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” She looked at him sharply, as if to remind him to whom he was speaking. She wouldn’t tolerate anything that wasn’t the truth. He shrugged, as if to say, _Does it matter?_ Her eyes grew dangerous, as she looked at him even more sharply, and he hastily added, “Close enough, anyway. What are you two doing?” His eyes found the bracelet before she could answer, and his hand shot out and grasped her upper arm, pulling her in closer beside him.

“That looks like a—” he broke off, realizing there were others in the room and what he was about to say was very likely confidential. “Did Vance give you that?” he asked quietly, ironclad control barely masking a fury boiling just below the surface.

“I don’t know. Maybe.  I assumed it was a gift from Conrad or the North Koreans. It won’t come off easily, I know that.”

“You tried to take it off? Without knowing what it does?” He looked around him. They needed to talk right now. Speaking to the room at large, he said, “Get out of here, all of you. I need to talk to Doc alone.” Everyone looked at each other in bewilderment, and no one moved. Putting some iron in his voice, he growled, “Now.” They didn’t trust the situation, but they trusted Eliot. Grumbling quietly among themselves, they all filed out. Nate was almost at the door when Doc called him back. Eliot glared at her.

“He can’t be here for this.”

“He was electrocuted in the accident. I need to be sure he’s all right.”

“Okay, but make it quick. This night just got a whole lot longer.”


	11. Chapter 11

She seated Nate on one of the other cots in the room. “Let me see your hands.”

Nate held them out in front of him, and she took each of his hands in one of hers. There were blisters on his fingertips. She reached in her bag and took out a jar, unscrewing the cap and setting it on the cot next to Nate. Swiping two fingers through the salve, she gently rubbed it into the burns on Nate’s hands. Wiping the rest of the salve on a towel, she bandaged his hands, and then reached back into her bag and withdrew a stethoscope. Putting the earpieces in her ears, she listened to his heart, just to be sure there were no issues with his breathing.

“Eliot, what’s going on?”

“I can’t discuss that with you, Nate. We’ll need to touch base with some contacts.”

“Are we in trouble?”

“Not sure yet. Maybe. Depends on who gave Doc that bracelet and what it means.”

“And how do we find that out?”

“I already told ya. We’ll have to touch base with some contacts.” He reached out and grasped Nate’s elbow.  “Nate, I’ll tell you what I can when I can. Let the team know that nothing changes as far as they are concerned. Our priority is to protect the team from Conrad. Kat and I haven’t had a chance to talk about this, but I think we can agree that whatever is going on with the bracelet is related somehow, so taking care of one will probably take care of the other.  The team needs to know that there will be certain things we can’t discuss.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you, Nate.”

After he left, Doc turned to Eliot and said, “I take it you’ve seen this before.”

“Yes, on an extremely dangerous mission.”

“Why did you ask if Vance gave me this bracelet?”

“He’s the one who gave it to me. In fairness, it wasn’t his choice, and the circumstances made it necessary.”

“What were the circumstances?” Eliot didn’t answer. Instead he said, “One of us should analyze a blood sample from you. That may give us some more information about all of this.”

“You aren’t really in any shape to be sitting up, much less dealing with this.”

“Since when does that make a difference to the mission? We do what we have to do. He reached out and took her arm, stretching it out in front of him, and then held his hand out for the materials he needed.  She handed them over, and his hands were steady as he swabbed the crook of her elbow with iodine and then with alcohol, and gently slid the needle into the vein. When the four vials they needed filled up, he withdrew the needle and bandaged her arm.

She immediately set about analyzing the samples, while Eliot sat there watching her, waiting for what she found. She looked relieved when she said, “There’s nothing showing up in my blood that shouldn’t be there.”

“Good. I wanted to be sure the bracelet didn’t do what it is designed to do when you tried to take it off.”

“I think you’d better start at the beginning.”

“The bracelet is a type of controller device—designed to be a safety measure to ensure you stick to the mission at hand.”

“I’ve never failed to complete a mission.”

“These are usually used on the type of mission no sane person would undertake, unless his or her life depended upon it. The bracelet ensures that it does.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There are different kinds, and they each do something different. If it is like mine was, there’s a tiny vial of fast acting poison concealed in a hidden channel inside the bracelet’s band. If the mission has not been completed within a certain amount of time, a little needle pops out and injects the poison into your system. You die within minutes. If you try to take the bracelet off, the wearer will find, as you did, that it carries a charge. And only the person who gave you that bracelet has the antidote.”

“So who do you think it was—Vance or Conrad?”

“Depends on which one’s more desperate for their mission to succeed, if this even has anything to do with the mission in front of you. Go through the reasons each might have given it to you.”

“Vance might’ve done it as a safety measure—be sure I went to save him if he got into trouble during his part of the mission.”

“You’ve never failed to come for either of us, so why would he need a bracelet to ensure you came this time? I can think of another reason Vance might’ve given you that bracelet, though.  Keep talking.”

“Maybe it was a safety measure the other way—if Vance thinks we’re at war with Conrad, he might have given it to me because I know some information that might be dangerous in Conrad’s hands, but wait,” she held both hands up in front of her, palms out, and then slowly lowered them, like she was drawing a curtain over certain information. “That doesn’t make sense. Vance didn’t know this mission had anything to do with Conrad when he left.”

“Who did he think the mission was against?”

“The North Koreans. We both did.”

“Well, your parameters still apply.”

“I guess so, but I still don’t buy Vance thinking he needs to do this to me.”

“Come on—don’t fool yourself. Vance is a good man, and faithful to his friends, but the mission comes first. He’ll use people as he has to use them to ensure the success of the mission, and in a case like that, friendship can’t enter into it.” He could see that she was still very upset, and wanted to spare her as much anguish as he could, at least until they had definitive proof one way or the other, so he spoke again. “It’s possible it came from higher up than Vance. Which would mean that he probably has one, too. That’s all the more reason one of us will need to go after him. Now, think about why Conrad might have given it to you.”

“Perhaps because I saw something I wasn’t supposed to see, while I was there,” she said.

“Or because he sees you as a threat,” Eliot mused.

“Or for a dozen other reasons. Hard to tell what his motivations might be. How long?”

“That’s hard to say—mostly because how long it’s already been on you is a determining factor, and we don’t have a way to know that without knowing who put it on you.”

“So, we’re shooting in the dark.”

“More or less.”

“Lovely.”

“So what’s next?”

“No reason we can’t keep the plan we already have, but the timetable will need to be accelerated. Business as usual, but as fast as possible. Still no word from Vance?”

“Nothing.”

“And the interns that came with us on the plane?”

“I sent them back to the lab. There’s still work to be done there.”

“That’s a good idea. I assume you’re going after Vance.”

“As soon as you are better.”

“No. Tomorrow, first thing. Can’t wait longer. Your clock’s ticking, and we can’t wait on Conrad either.”

She nodded. He was right.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Doc slipped in to check on Eliot very early the next morning. She knew he didn’t sleep much, so she wasn’t really expecting him to be asleep when she walked in, and he didn’t disappoint her. He was seated at the small desk, scrolling through a list of contacts on a phone that was familiar to her. Once in awhile, he would stop and send a text message to one or the other of them.

“Eliot,” she said, quietly. He looked up and she smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, sit down over here.” He rose and followed her, and seated himself on the bunk he had used.

“Are you on your way to the airport?”

“Private airstrip about twenty miles from here. Plane will be there in about an hour.”

“Shouldn’t you be on your way? There’s no time to waste.”

“Shortly. As soon as we finish here.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yes, you said that before. That’s one of the reasons I’m here. Did you forget you’re talking to me, Eliot? You’ve never felt the need to lie to me about your health before.” Her tone was mild, but the disappointment was evident in her voice. Eliot closed his eyes, wincing. She was right, and he knew the consequences of lying to her. It would be awhile before she decided she didn’t need to check his health for herself again.

“I’m sorry, Kat.” He ducked his head. “I don’t like to make the team worry.”

“The team’s not here right now.” She had done most of her examination while they were talking, and now she turned away, and was looking for something in her bag.

“Hey,” he said, putting a hand on her arm and squeezing gently. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. You know I don’t like to show weakness, not even to you.”

“You have nothing to prove to me, Eliot. Not now and not ever.”

She finally found the item she was looking for in her bag, and pulled it out. It was a large syringe with a large bore, hollow needle. Eliot’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Anyone who didn’t really know him wouldn’t have noticed, but he was under no illusions that Doc hadn’t seen it. The woman sitting across from him missed very little. So, he was equally surprised but less obvious about it when she handed it to him.

“What’s this?”

“Well, unless this bracelet has an internal clock, it isn’t connected to an outside power source to track how much time has passed. Your Mister Hardison thinks that means it operates dependent upon whichever wireless bandwidth it picks up wherever I am, which isn’t a problem until I’m in a place where there isn’t any. Then, he’s worried that when the signal cuts off, the injection of poison into my system could take place early. Apparently, this little wireless transponder is just supposed to keep the signal going temporarily while I am in the jungle.”

“Will he be able to track it?”

“Relax. It didn’t come from him. He just expressed concern over the potential problem. Shelley built it and added it to my medical bag long ago, just in case. Only four people on earth can track it—you, me, Vance, and Shelley.”

“And possibly the CIA. Watch yourself, Kat.” She nodded.

“Here’s the code. Burn this when you’re finished with it.” He nodded, and she continued. “The only thing that’s left is for you to put it right here.” She patted the side of her hip. Eliot shook his head, and she gave him a quizzical look.

“You need to be able to walk without a limp or pain, and we don’t have time to wait until it heals. Trust me?” She nodded. _Of course she did_.

Sweeping her hair aside, he inserted the needle into the bank of muscle between her shoulder and neck and depressed the plunger. She bit back her howl of pain and muttered what sounded like a curse in a foreign language Eliot didn’t recognize. He rubbed it gently for her until the pain had mostly passed. She gave him a sheepish smile.

“Thanks. I’ll be going now.”

“Call me when you find Vance. I’m not sure where we’ll be with Conrad. No more than 36 hours, Kat.”

“Got it. Be careful.”

“Back at ya.”

(0o0)

Hardison was typing furiously on his laptop keyboard, and trying not to let anyone else know how freaked out he was. Eliot must have suspected something of the truth though, because he was standing next to the younger man with a hand resting on his shoulder. 

“I can’t do it. He’s dropped off the grid.”

“Hardison, listen to me. You can do this. Conrad’s out there. It’s just a matter of finding him. And you can be sure, if we don’t find him, he’ll find us.”

“Okay, I-I’ll keep looking.”

Just then, Eliot’s cell phone buzzed, and he withdrew it and looked at the message. He looked up to find Hardison staring at him. Mildly annoyed, he growled, “What?”

“You have two phones?”

“Hardison—”

“So I guess you have another whole life that we don’t know about, too, don’t you? Unbelievable. Nobody tells the tech guy anything.” His tirade degenerated into an only semi-coherent mumbling, until Eliot’s irritated growl cut him off.

“Hardison!” The younger man grew silent and gazed at him, waiting for him to continue. “I haven’t made it a secret that I carry two phones. You just haven’t noticed before now.”

“But why? Who does that?”

Eliot flashed Hardison his scary look, and Hardison fell silent.

Eliot started toward the door, and stopped when Nate’s voice pulled him back. “Eliot? Where are you going?”

“Out. I’ll be back.”

“Eliot?”

“Leave it, Nate. You know I can’t discuss it.” Without another word, he stalked out the door and pulled it closed behind him, leaving Nate and Hardison staring at one another, wondering what was going on.

(0o0)

Fifteen minutes later, Eliot was walking into the bus station, closest to the Leverage HQ, and right up to a specific locker. It was the work of a moment to pick the lock.  Opening the metal slatted door, he withdrew a small, slightly rectangular cardboard box, and an envelope with a small card attached to it. Looking around to be sure that no one noticed him, he put all of it into the inside pocket of the leather jacket he wore, and made his way back outside, losing himself in the crowd. He walked until he found a place of privacy, where he could be reasonably sure no one was watching him.

There, he withdrew the envelope first. The card was an index card cut to the size of a business card, and paper-clipped to the end of the envelope. Unclipping the card, he turned it over and found a series of numbers and symbols on the other side. Clipping it back on, he then broke the seal on the envelope, and withdrew several small sheets of paper, folded in half. Unfolding them, he found a note printed in a block script on the first page.

                _E,_

_C’s on the loose again. This is everything I have. I hope it helps. Be careful._

The note wasn’t signed, and that was all it said. Eliot turned it over, frowning, but there was nothing on the other side. He flipped through the small stack of papers behind that one, but they all appeared to be blank. _Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, over?_

He hoped the box would shed some light on all of this, but he couldn’t afford to open it here, now.

With the sigh that marked him as a man who had seen his share of death and destruction, Eliot slowly made his way out of the bus station, thinking hard. Someone had risked their lives to see that he got the information. Now he just had to figure out how to use it.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Eliot made it back to the team’s headquarters mostly by the force of his will. He was struck by a bout of weakness, from the blood-loss, and he heard Doc’s voice sounding in his head, telling him he should have known better than to go out so soon after being shot. In this case, there was no real choice, though.

He walked in, straight through the living room, past the quizzical looks of the rest of the team, into the treatment room, where he opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water, and sank down onto one of the cots. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to allow the exhaustion to get the best of him.

A moment later, he heard a knock on the door. He moved to one of the chairs that sat next to the cots, and said, “Come.”

The door opened and Nate walked inside. “Eliot? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I would probably be feeling pretty weak right now if I had been through what you’ve experienced over the past few days.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t really have much of a choice now, do we?”

“I suppose not. Listen, Eliot, I know you can’t talk about what you and Doc are planning, or where she went, but I need to know what this means for the team.” Eliot gazed at Nate for a moment. The team deserved to know what they were up against, so he would tell them what he could.

“My best guess?”

Nate nodded.

“Conrad set us up, probably to get revenge for the last time he came after us. He lured me there, planning to torture me, kill me, whatever. Then he lured Vance there by making him think there was some sort of mission, for which he would need backup, probably someone skilled in medicine, so Vance called in Doc for backup. She realized they were holding me, and when she didn’t find Vance there, I think she figured out that it was a set-up, managed to take the place of the Doctor they had interrogating me, and staged a rescue. She had her people put all of you in custody for your own protection because she wasn’t sure what Conrad would do once he discovered I was gone.” Eliot fell silent and finished draining the water bottle in his hand.

“Why did Doc leave?”

“Kat’s a force of nature. She does what she feels like she has to do, and there’s no sense in arguing. She’ll meet up with us again before all of this ends.”

“Yes, she explained to me about the way you all send for one another, and I asked her what you sent to them when you needed help.”

“Oh?” Eliot smiled a little. “What’d she say?”

“She said that was a question for you. So now I’m asking you.”

“Depends on the situation.”

“You aren’t going to answer me, are you?”

“You’ll know when it’s important,” Eliot said, lightly.

Nate swallowed nervously, unsure how Eliot would take what he needed to say next. “Eliot, I want you to make me a promise.”

“I only make promises I know I can keep.”

“I know. Eliot, you’re one of the toughest men I’ve ever met, but you aren’t superhuman. You’re still recovering from torture and you’ve lost a lot of blood from those gunshots. I want you to promise me you won’t take on any more than you can handle.”

“I can’t make you that promise, Nate.” He considered for a moment, and then continued. “If it comes down to me being weak or keeping the team safe, I will ensure the safety of the team. That’s my job.”

“At least let me know if you’re too weak to do something, so we don’t jeopardize their safety.”

“I’ll let you know if I can’t do my job, Nate. That was never a question.”

“So, what’s the plan for us?”

“First, we find Mitchell.”

“Mitchell? What does he have to do with all of this?”

“That’s what we need to find out. When we finished with Conrad the last time, Mitchell assured us that he’d be something like an early warning system for us—he’d be watching Conrad closely, and let us know if he was up to something. As a Deputy Director of the CIA, he was in a good position to do that.”

“So?”

“We haven’t heard a word from him. Mitchell proved himself an ally last time, so there’d be no reason to doubt him. So why haven’t we heard anything?”

“Ah. I see. And how do you propose to find him? You can’t just be planning to walk into the CIA headquarters in DC. Are you?” He gave Eliot a dubious look.

“Someone gave us a little help.” He pulled the card out of his pocket, still clipped to the envelope. “Coordinates.”

“How do you know it’s not another trap, set by Conrad.”

“Chance we’ll have to take. Someone I trust sent me a text message telling me to go to a specific locker at the bus station. This is part of what I found there.  Now, that person could have been passing on some information, or they could have first-hand knowledge. No way to tell that without putting them at risk. If I’m not mistaken, these coordinates are somewhere near Italy.”

“So, Hardison needs to find us some tickets.”

“Yep.”

“I’ll let him know. At least rest between now and the time we leave.”

“I still have some work to do, but it’s work I can do lying down.  I need to top up on fluids, too. The blood loss left me dehydrated.”

“I know planes aren’t exactly restful, but at least you won’t have to move around for the duration of that trip.”

“Yeah-yeah.”

(0o0)

Nate was correct when he said the plane wasn’t restful, and even staying in his seat for the vast majority of the flight, Eliot still found himself exhausted. There would be time to deal with that later, and so, he shoved the feeling aside. It was nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. As the plane taxied down the runway in Malta, Eliot was already three or four steps ahead, making plans, and planning contingencies in case those plans went south.

Eliot refused to rent a car at the airport, not wanting to leave a paper trail that could be traced. Instead, each of them went through customs with the passport of a relatively new alias, and then they bought five seats on the fastest train available, and Eliot pulled them off at the station nearest the coordinates he had been given. It wasn’t safe to use GPS either, since it could be tracked, so Eliot had to do it the old fashioned way. He determined they were still about two kilometers away from their intended location. They set off through the countryside, and into the forest.  Half an hour later, they reached an old farm. Wooly sheep dotted the countryside a ways away. Goats and cows grazed in the next field, but the area immediately around the farm seemed deserted.

The house was locked up tight, but it was the work of a moment for Parker to pick the lock. When she had done so, Eliot put a hand on her shoulder and motioned for her to stay put. He quickly checked and cleared the house, and then walked back out, and with hand signals, motioned them to follow him around the house to the barn.

Motioning for everyone else to hang back, Eliot and Parker snuck from tree to tree, staying under cover until they reached the barn. The barn was padlocked, and Parker again worked her magic, and quickly opened the door. She slipped inside, with Eliot right behind her, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she gasped and made a strangled cry in the back of her throat.  She felt a warmth behind her, and a hand on her shoulder, and as she realized Eliot was behind her, she turned into him and tucked her head into his shoulder, diverting her eyes from the scene before her.  Eliot rubbed her back for a moment, and the thought in his mind was _If Parker turned away, it must be pretty bad._

He gently moved her to one side, and stepped around her. The scene that greeted him provided sufficient cause for Parker’s behavior. There was blood everywhere, and it looked like someone had put up one hell of a fight. Eliot found Jack Mitchell dead, lying in a pool of his own blood, bleeding from every orifice in his body, which was broken in a dozen places. Someone had done a number on him. 

Eliot stood staring at the man lying dead before him, and thinking ‘ _That would explain why neither Kitty nor I, nor presumably Vance, has heard anything from Mitchell.’_

 


	14. Chapter 14

Eliot’s training had taught him never to leave a man behind, and he didn’t plan to do so now. His first priority was to be sure his team was safe, and so, the first thing he did was secure the perimeter. He had done so when they arrived, but finding a man dead changed things a bit. It made him want to be sure he hadn’t missed anything, and that no one had found a way inside the perimeter he had set up. These weren’t ordinary people with whom he was dealing.

When he returned, Nate and Hardison were digging a hole. Eliot took the shovel away from Hardison, and sent him to inspect the house with Parker and Sophie. As doubtful as it was, they needed to see if Mitchell’s killer had left anything behind. Eliot went into the barn to get Mitchell. The look on his face, and his curt demeanor let Nate know that this was a task he would perform alone. He was out a moment later, with a large bucket and some towels. Nate gave him an inquisitive look, but Eliot ignored it, filling the bucket with water from the well in the back yard, and disappearing back into the barn.

Mitchell was lying on his stomach, covered in his own blood, and it was hard to tell how he had died with all the blood. Eliot gently turned him over, unbuttoning Mitchell’s shirt as he did so. He threw a towel into the bucket, sloshing it around with his hand as he did so. He took it out, and with a quick turn of his wrist, he wrung it out, and gently began washing the blood off of the other man’s face and chest. Some of it was dry and flaky. Some of it was still tacky. The heavy smell of iron hung in the air.

When he was clean, Eliot inspected every inch of the body for signs of how Mitchell died, and found nothing. The man didn’t have a mark on him. Odd. Had to be some kind of poison. As hard as he knew it would be for his friend, Eliot wished he could get Mitchell up on Doc’s autopsy slab, so they knew for sure what they were dealing with.

_Doc._ He needed to let her know about Mitchell. He walked outside to be sure that Nate had finished the shallow grave, and that it was deep enough. Nate looked as though he wanted to speak, but he waited for Eliot to break the silence first. Instead, Eliot turned away for a moment, withdrawing a phone from his pocket. He scrolled to a number, and then started typing a text message. A moment later, he put the phone back in his pocket, and turned back to Nate, trying to manage a smile that looked more like a feral grimace than anything else.

“Thanks, Nate,” he said, grimly. “I’ll bring him out.”

(0o0)

Doc had spent fifteen hours on a flight back to Asia. She would have a twelve hour flight back to DC, slightly less if they met up somewhere in Western Europe. So that left her right around nine hours to find Vance, rescue him if needed, find out if he was the one who gave her the bracelet and get them both back to the rest of the team, help catch Conrad, and get the antidote. Tall order, but there was no choice. Lives depended on it, hers included.

 The last she had heard from Vance, he was going to try to secure some help from some friends in South Korea, but that was four days ago. They had not spoken since, and he had missed their rendezvous, which was supposed to take place just before she rescued Eliot. The plan had been for all of them to leave together, and go back to her lab in England and regroup. It hadn’t happened that way.

The obvious first place to start was to visit the people Vance was going to visit, and determine if he had made it there. The only potential problem with that was that Vance hadn’t told her who he was seeing. She knew he did it to keep his contacts safe. If Conrad had discovered who they were, they’d be dead before Vance ever got a chance to talk to them.  Either he had planned this very well, or he had people back at CIA headquarters keeping him a step ahead of them. She would do the only thing she could do—start with the contacts she knew and go from there.

(0o0)

Eliot would have liked to do something else for Mitchell—build him a casket, say a few words over him, something, but there just wasn’t time. His weakness was slowing him down a bit, and he was already pushing their timeline a bit by digging him a grave, but when it came to that part of it, he couldn’t not do it. He scooped the man up in a fireman’s carry, and stalked outside. Eliot laid Mitchell in the grave and began shoveling dirt over him. Without a word, Nate started helping. Eliot flashed him a grateful smile, and when they were finished with that, he sharpened a stick, and lashed another stick to it, and then hammered it into the ground at the head of the grave to mark it as a final resting place. They were finishing the job just as the others came back from their inspection of the house.

Parker spoke first. “We didn’t find anything in the house—no fingerprints, nothing disturbed or taken, nothing left except this—”. She held out a closed fist. Eliot placed his hand under it, and she dropped something small and hard into it. “Sorry, Sparky.” Eliot shook his head. He hadn’t really expected them to find anything, but they had to be sure.

Then, Hardison spoke up, and said something he hadn’t expected to hear. “We took pictures of each of the rooms, so you can look if you like, and make sure we didn’t miss anything.” At Eliot’s confused glance, he spoke up again. “Among the computer equipment I carry for jobs is a small digital camera. I can download the pictures for you.”

“No. Anything on the net is outside of our control.”

“Who said anything about the net? They’d be on my hard drive.”

“The same hard drive that has hacked in to the CIA servers, as well as various other government offices? I don’t know a lot about computers, but I know if you have a backdoor into their system, they have a way into yours, too. You should assume so, anyway.”

“All right. The camera also has a viewer. Now it’ll be a tiny screen, but you can look through them on that if you like.”

“We’ll review them later. Nice work, Hardison,” Eliot said, studying the object in his hand. It looked like a small fountain pen. Eliot screwed off the cap to find the nib of a fountain pen on the end.  He screwed the cap back on. The other end of the pen should have ink storage and an extra nib. He unscrewed it, and found a small USB end there. “Hardison, I think this is a flash drive. See what you can find out from it.” He tossed the pen to the younger man, who caught it and immediately plugged it in to his computer.

Seconds later, he heard several loud beeps and a computer generated crashing sound, and then Hardison’s voice. “Oh. This is SO NOT good.” The young man was staring at the screen with a look of disbelief on his face.

Eliot walked up behind him, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “What is it?” The screen was black, and as they watched, red numbers flashed up three times in quick succession, and then red letters scrolled across the screen, spelling out the words, “Initiating shutdown.” The numbers flashed up there again, and this time, Eliot was writing down as many as he could get. The same words spilled across the screen again, and Hardison reached down to unplug the flash drive from the computer.   
  
“Don’t!” Eliot said, putting a hand on his. As the numbers flashed up again, he again wrote down as many as he could. The red letters indicating shutdown flashed mockingly across the screen again, this time followed by a countdown clock. Eliot had written down all the numbers, so Hardison reached down and yanked the flash drive out of his computer, when the numbers said, :05. The clock stopped and Hardison breathed a sigh of relief. That relief turned to dread a moment later, when the clock started again. Hardison watched numbly as it counted down--:04, :03, :02, :01 and then the whole system shut down as it had threatened to do. Hardison pressed the power button several times in vain, and looked like he was about to cry when nothing happened.

Eliot squeezed his shoulder and said, “Sorry man. When this is over, I have some friends who may be able to get it up and working for you again. If not, I’ll replace it for you.”

Hardison muttered something Eliot decided he wasn’t supposed to understand, and slid his temporarily useless computer into his bag.

“So what now?” he asked.

“Now, we follow the plan, and find out who killed Mitchell. These coordinates will help.” With that, he pulled out his maps and spread them on the floor, settling in to work.

 


	15. Chapter 15

 Doc had tracked Vance through three of his contacts, and still hadn’t caught up with him. He hadn’t visited two of them, and the other one admitted he had been there three days ago. There had been no sign of him since then, but the contact had told Doc where he thought Vance was headed. Each place she had been seemed to lead somewhere else, but she was starting to wonder if she was being led on a wild goose chase.

After speaking to the fourth and final contact she knew, she thought she might finally be making headway. She had a location, and a time that Vance was supposed to be meeting someone else. Six hours had passed. Doc knew she was running out of time.

She arrived at the place Vance was supposed to be meeting with this mystery person (his contact hadn’t known who it was) and swept the perimeter. The outside of the house was secure, so she walked up to the front door and slipped inside.

Turning on her flashlight, she found a lantern, and lit it, quickly clearing the one room hut. Vance wasn’t inside. The room was trashed, and there were signs of a struggle. A trail of smeared blood on the floor told her someone had been injured and then dragged somewhere else.  She followed the trail back outside, and around behind the house again. Now that she was looking for it, she could see the trail where the grass was flattened, though there was less blood to color the grass. The trail stopped at a wood door that looked like it led to a root cellar.

Pulling open the cellar door, she descended the stairs, service revolver in one hand and lantern in the other. She descended the stairs on the balls of her feet, and walking as close to the edge as possible, so she made as little noise as possible. When she reached the floor of the cellar, she set the lantern on the ground, and turned it up all the way. There was something red slumped in the corner of the room, and for a moment, Doc couldn’t tell if it was a person or even if it was alive.

She hurried over to the corner, and found Vance, covered in his own blood, but breathing. His pulse was steady, if a bit slower than normal. There was too much blood for her to tell if it was safe to move him, but she wasn’t sure she had a choice. She cleaned him up as best she could, and started to examine him. As she did so, he stirred, and said, “Doc, is that you?”

“Shh. I’m here.”   
“Get out of here. It’s a trap. You won’t do anyone any good if you get caught as well.”

“I’m not leaving you. If they catch us, we’ll find our way out of it together. Can you walk?”

“I think so.” Putting both hands out on either side of him on the floor, he slid himself back against the wall, and groaning, pushed himself into a sitting position. With no small amount of effort, he managed to stand up. He swayed in place for a moment, then steadied himself. He took two steps forward, and sank to his knees. She tucked the gun back into its holster, and moved forward to support the big man. After a moment, he forced himself back up. Doc looked around the room until she found a wooden broom. It’s handle was made out of a curved tree branch, and looked to be about the right height. Twirling it around behind her and down, she broke it with her foot, the way Eliot had taught her to do, and handed it to Vance to use as a cane. Opening her field pouch, she drew a dose of stimulant into a syringe and as he stepped toward her, she caught him in the one place on his body that appeared to be uninjured—the neck.

“What was that?” Vance asked, wide eyed, with a hand to his neck, and looking like he was trying to swallow back the bile in his throat.

“Stimulant. Get you back on your feet. Not the best option, but the best under the circumstances.”

Vance didn’t know what to say to that, so he just nodded. Putting a finger to her lips, she made her way back to the stairs, and Vance followed, facing the other direction, so no one could sneak up on them. They struggled to the top of the stairs, and as they exited the cellar into the velvety night outside, they heard the familiar sound of a gun being cocked.

Doc and Vance were instantly alert, but they could see nothing in the complete darkness. A moment later, cloth hoods were placed over their heads, and a distorted, almost computerized voice told them to walk. When they hesitated, the butt of the gun prodded them forward. Doc judged they walked about a thousand yards before they were shoved, none too gently, into a vehicle of some sort.

Doc knew how sick Colonel Vance was, and though she knew that both of them would utilize their military training, she wasn’t sure how much Vance would be capable of doing. So, she’d just have to be extra sure that she was covering all the bases. She was counting turns and estimating speed in her head, while trying to draw a mental map of where they were going at the same time. It would be hard to tell where they started, since it was dark, but maybe she could at least figure out how far they traveled and in what direction.

As the rattle-trap vehicle lumbered down what felt like a dirt road, of the kind the people around her used to call washboards, she tried to figure a way out. With Vance as unsteady on his feet as he was, the only thing she could come up with was to wait until they stopped, and try to escape while they were being transferred to whatever destination they ended up in. That was the weakest point of every transport, and judging by the way Vance was breathing, it needed to be soon.

 


	16. Chapter 16

As they were getting ready to leave the farmhouse, a black, nondescript car screeched to a stop in the driveway. Six uniformed men poured out, shouting at them in some dialect of Italian. Eliot started to move toward them, but the sound of a shotgun being cocked stopped him in his tracks. He froze, trying to figure out how to diffuse the situation. The uniforms read police, and he wasn’t really inclined to go head to head with foreign police if he didn’t have to do so. That was a good way to get arrested, and while there were no warrants for his arrest in America, Europe was a different animal entirely.

Before he had much of a chance to do anything, the team was surrounded.  Then, he heard a whistling sound that was barely discernible under the noise of the men shouting at him. With a strangled noise, Eliot collapsed to the ground facedown and lay there twitching slightly, while the other four were ushered at gunpoint back into the farmhouse. Eliot was unceremoniously deposited into the vehicle, now unconscious.

Minutes later, Eliot woke and sat up with a grunt. He rubbed at a pain in his side, and came away with a metal tranquilizer dart. He looked around him to see a thin woman sitting across from him, watching him carefully.

“Aren’t you here to see Nate?”

The woman’s accent was thick when she answered him. “I wished to speak with you.” She smiled slightly. “I need your help.”

“Yeah? Why should I help you?”

“As it happens, I have some acquaintances in Myanmar who would be very interested in knowing the whereabouts of the great Eliot Spencer.” This remark didn’t elicit the intended response from Eliot. He didn’t look worried, he looked almost—bored. She swallowed once or twice, and was forced to admit to herself that she might have misread this man.

His eyes bored into her. “What do you want?”

“Revenge. I have reason to believe that some of Moreau’s men, who infiltrated my organization and sold me out, did not reveal themselves at that time, and are, even now, still taking orders from Moreau, and passing them to someone highly placed in your government. Flushing them out would be mutually beneficial to both of us, considering that I suspect that your problem and mine have the same face.”

“You’re saying that Conrad is the government official receiving this information?”

She ducked her head slightly and said, “We don’t know for sure.” She tossed him a red file folder.

He opened it and read quickly. “So Conrad and Atherton were dust brothers at the same university, for three years, together. That’s interesting, but it doesn’t prove anything.”

“We’re counting on you to find the proof.”

Eliot inclined his head slightly, considering.  Finally, he said, “I’ll need the team.”

“They are safe, and will be available to you.”

“I want to make one thing clear to you. I don’t work the way Nate does. I don’t take orders from anyone, except myself and people I trust with my life. Right now, that doesn’t include you. If you want me to do this, you will leave me to do it my own way, and support from the background, if and only if, I call you. Do you understand?”

“I understand. What if I don’t agree?”

“We go our separate ways. You can call the folks in Myanmar if you feel the need, but you’ll be dead and I’ll be gone, along with the team, by the time they get here. We’ll take care of our problem ourselves.”  His blue eyes were cold and locked on to hers.

“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Spencer.”

“Do we have a deal?”

“Deal. Tell me what you need.”

“Pay attention. I’m only gonna say this once.” He leaned forward and held a whispered conversation with her. A moment later, the door opened and Eliot got out, and then the car backed out of the driveway and sped off. Slowly, Eliot made his way to the house, where he remembered seeing the team taken before he was knocked out. He wanted to be sure they were all right.

 He breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened, just as he reached it, and the team came out to meet him. The Italian’s men were around somewhere, no doubt, but they were nowhere to be seen. The team surrounded Eliot, all talking at once. With an amused growl, he cut them all off, and placing a finger to his lips, led them back into the house.

Nate tried to turn off toward the kitchen, planning to gather them all around the table, but Eliot shook his head and tightened his hold on the man’s shoulder, steering him back toward the bedroom. When they were all seated on various pieces of furniture in the room, Eliot stretched out on the small bed that sat in the corner. He didn’t exactly lie down—he wouldn’t allow himself to unfold that far, but his energy was ebbing, and he needed to rest a while. He closed his eyes for a moment.

“Are you all okay?” he asked, seconds later.

“Fine. You?”

“Just tired. A friend of yours had me pay her a visit.”

“I know. I recognized some of her men as the same ones we met at my apartment the first time we met her. What does she want?”

“She thinks Moreau has some men in her organization who are passing information from Moreau’s jail cell to some high level sources in our government, and she thinks Conrad might be one of them. She wants us to prove it.”

“Why? What’s in it for her?”

“Revenge.”

“And for us?”

“Resources. Extra help.”

“I’m not sure we want that kind of help.”

“I’m pretty sure we don’t have a choice, but don’t worry. I’ll keep her on a short leash.”

“Are you sure you can control her?”

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

“I guess we will. So what’s next?”

“First, you all eat. It’s way past meal time. Then, we replace Hardison’s laptop. He’s gonna need it, both to do some research for the con, and to check on something for me—something to do with Doc and Vance. Doc should be back any time now. He desperately wanted to add _with Vance_ , but he wasn’t sure that was actually true.  That would depend on Vance’s mission, and what kind of game he was playing, if indeed, it was he who held the cards. His mind filled with plans and maps and ideas, he drifted off to sleep, as the exhaustion overtook him. He had no doubt that the Italian’s men could keep them safe enough, for the time being, and he might as well make use of the parts of this deal that were useful. 

 


	17. Chapter 17

When the van stopped, they were ushered out at gunpoint, and forced to walk straight ahead through the pitch black darkness and into a low building. They were unceremoniously prodded into a damp, dark cell, with a single, bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Doc could hear the electricity arcing at the fixture. As they were shoved by unknown hands into the cell, Vance sank to his knees, and Doc moved over next to him, helping him stretch out on the floor.

She proceeded to clean him up as much as possible and began treating the injuries she could see. Vance was barely conscious, as the stimulant she gave him was beginning to wear off.

“Why would the voice be distorted?”

“What?”

“The man who took us hostage, told us to walk—why would his voice be distorted?”

“Maybe because you would recognize it otherwise?”

“That’s the only reason I can think of.”

Helping Vance sit up, she wrapped his ribs tightly, and then laid three hypos out on the ground in front of her. As she uncapped the first one, she answered Vance’s unspoken question. “Tetanus shot, stimulant, antibiotics,” she said, pointing each one out. When she finished her examination, and had treated all of the injuries she could treat with the equipment she had, she helped Vance stand up and led him over to one of the cots that hung on one wall. She sat down on the other one, and picked up their previous conversation where they’d left off.

“So, we know the voice is that of someone we know—is that person friend or foe?”

“No way of knowing that without knowing who it is. My guess would be foe, judging by what has happened to us since I came to Asia.”

There was nothing else to be garnered from the new information they had learned so far, so Doc left Vance resting on the cot and went about the business of trying to find a way out of the cell they were being held in. She wouldn’t give him anything to help him sleep, knowing that if they were to find an exit, she wouldn’t be able to carry him alone, so she needed him as mobile as possible until they could reach a place of safety.

(0o0)

The reinforcements Eliot had called in were beginning to show up, and Eliot was glad that the Italian had left. He knew her men were still around, and word would get back to her that there were more people around than there had been previously, but she didn’t need to know exactly how many people he had at his disposal—not immediately anyway. And if all went to plan, she wouldn’t see most of them more than once, if at all, as he intended to have them working in the background. His friend Shelley was one of the first to show up. Shelley was an expert in technology, so Eliot had Hardison surrender his computer to the other man.

Hardison watched in horror as Shelley cracked open the case of the laptop and plugged in some sort of long skinny device the hacker had never seen before. He closed the case, and plugged it in, touched some of the keys in a particular sequence, and a few seconds later, had the computer up and running again. Hardison’s eyes bugged out slightly.

“Hey, man, can you teach me that?”

“I could, but then I’d have to kill you,” Shelley replied, grinning widely.

Laughing quietly, Eliot handed him the piece of paper on which he had written the coordinates from the ill-fated flash drive. He plugged them in and a map popped up. Opening a new window, Shelley routed a back door into the CIA computers and started looking for official orders. He knew he couldn’t stay long, or his work would be discovered.

“I need to know the whereabouts of General Atherton and of Mister Conrad. Any way you can get a look at their calendar?”

“While he’s doing that, why don’t we look at the pictures Parker and I took earlier?” Eliot nodded, and moved over next to Hardison, watching as he scrolled through the pictures and squinting to try to see them in detail.

After a moment, he said, “Shelley, this screen is too small. We need to download these.”

“Use the computer I brought with me. It has a little bit better security on it.” He handed Eliot a small laptop and went back to work. 

(0o0)

It had been at least two hours since they were thrown into the cell, and Doc had long since given up trying to find a way out. Vance had finally fallen into a restless slumber, and Doc sat next to him. She glanced down at the bracelet circling her wrist, and wondered, not for the first time, if she would die here. If that was the case, there were some things she needed to say to Vance and to Eliot, and she needed to be sure that Vance was safe.  She was loathe to wake Vance up. He would need all the strength he could get in case they found an opportunity to escape later.

She turned her head as the doors clanged open, to see a figure covered from head to foot in black material, to the point that it was impossible to tell whether the person covered was male or female. She couldn’t even make out an eye color. Without warning, she rushed the person in black and took his legs out from under him. She landed on top of him on the ground, and they skidded across the room together, hit the wall hard, and lay still. With a groan, he pushed her off of him, rose to his knees, and then pulled her hands behind her back and secured them roughly. Hauling her to her feet, he shoved her over into the corner of the cell. Speaking into a communicator box attached to his shoulder, he then moved over to Vance and pulled him off of the cot he rested on, as guards poured into the room, surrounding and immobilizing the two prisoners.

They were blindfolded and forced to walk a good distance. Doc found herself shivering at one point, and it was then that she realized that they were outside. A short time later, the muscles in the front of her thighs began hurting a little, and she knew they were moving up a slope of some kind. Moments later, Doc found herself seated on something soft. She heard a click and felt a band tighten around her hips. There was a thump not far away from her, and she heard a groan as Vance was apparently also pushed down into the soft material. Seconds later, she felt the surface she was sitting on start to move, and she wondered where the plane was taking them, and with whom.

They had been in the air for almost an hour when she heard someone walk back into the cabin with them, and then the person was standing next to her. Her blindfold was removed a moment later. The figure in black was standing over her. She watched as he moved over to Vance and removed his blindfold, and then untied his hands. When that was done, he moved back over to her and untied her hands. She rubbed her arms to get the circulation flowing again.

As she did so, she was watching the figure in black. To her surprise, he reached up and pulled off his hood.

“Mitchell?” Doc’s eyes narrowed, and she wondered, for a moment, if she could trust the man in front of her. So far, his actions hadn’t inspired much trust. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

He nodded. When he spoke, his voice was no longer distorted. “As far as anyone else is concerned, I am. I imagine I have some explaining to do.”

 

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

Doc was rarely angry, and even more rarely flustered, so it came as something of a shock to Mitchell  when he saw that she was now both. The power of her emotion pulled her up out of her seat, and she found herself standing right in front of Mitchell. In a fit of pique, she lashed out with her fist, punching him hard in the jaw with a right hook that was like a freight train. Mitchell found himself lying on the floor in the aisle. He sat up and looked around, wary of being punched again, and pretty sure his jaw was broken. He tasted the metallic iron of blood inside his mouth, and suspected she’d loosened some teeth. Trembling with the anger rushing through her, her voice was hard when she said, “You’re damn straight you’ve got some explaining to do, to me and to Vance, and right now, but you’d better have a damn sight more than explanations when you see Spencer again.” Mitchell winced at that thought.

Vance forced himself to a sitting position, and ordered, in a voice as hard as granite, “Explain. Now!”

“When Conrad was after Spencer’s team last time, I promised I would keep an eye on him, and let you all know if he stepped out of line. I watched him closer than he ever thought anyone could, but that became the problem. He knew I was watching him. I don’t know how he knew, unless he has some help we don’t know about, but he knew. Based on some things I saw early on, I knew he was up to something, and I found evidence, which I can’t discuss at the moment, that it had to do with getting revenge on the two of you and on Spencer’s team, and probably also on me, since I was involved before. Once he suspected me, he was very careful, and he covered his tracks, but I knew he was planning something. I just didn’t know when. So, I made some plans of my own.”

“You did all of this to us? Why Mitch?”

“No. Conrad knew that between us, we have a good many friends in high places. Somebody was likely to get wind of what he was planning and get word back to the rest of us. He hoped to get the two of you out of the way, so he lured Vance to Asia, on the pretext of a dangerous mission, and then made it look like a medical mission, knowing that Vance would call you for help. Then, he intercepted the medallion you sent to Eliot, and made him think you were asking for a rescue. He wasn’t counting on you taking out the doctor, and knew he had to get rid of the two of you before you foiled his plans by taking over the mission. So, he had some of his men orchestrate a high stakes rescue mission, and arranged for Vance to be sent off to lead it. He was hoping to leave the team unprotected and kidnap them, so he could use them as leverage against Eliot. He wasn’t counting on Eliot staying behind while you came to rescue Vance.  And he wasn’t expecting me to catch on so quickly.

“I have a wider network of informants than he thought, though, and Spencer has a lot of friends. A how-shall-we-say mutual acquaintance informed me when he heard that Conrad was ready to make his move. I had to take the pressure off, and try to get the element of surprise back in our favor. So I set it up to look like I was killed by unfriendlies, in an accident on a completely unrelated mission. That way, Conrad would think no one was watching, and might decide that it was a good time to put his plan into action. That part worked, at least.”

“Why don’t you come sit down over here and let me make sure your jaw still works?” She blushed slightly.  “I’m sorry, Mitch.”

“We always knew you packed a punch.” He smiled sheepishly at her. “I knew it was risky to reveal all of this the way I chose to do so, but I had to talk to you and I had to make sure it was in a place we couldn’t be followed or overheard. I need your help. Conrad’ll be onto my original plan by now, so we’ll need a new one, if we want to stay ahead of him, that is.”

He seated himself next to her, opening and closing his mouth, as though trying to be sure his jaw was still functional. Mitchell was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to talk if it wasn’t. He had to admit it hurt like the dickens, though.  Grasping his chin with one hand, she manipulated his jaw, and quickly determined nothing was broken.

“Open your mouth.” He did so, and Doc withdrew a penlight from her pocket, and used it to look in his mouth. She finally decided the teeth weren’t badly loosened, and would tighten back up on their own without help, once the bleeding stopped. She rose and moved to the plane’s small galley area, and came back after a moment with ice wrapped in a couple of paper towels.

“Here. Hold that to your cheek until the bleeding stops. She drew liquid into a syringe, and injected it into his arm.

“That’ll help with the pain, but it won’t make you sleep.” When she was finished, she moved over next to Vance and finished treating his injuries, now that the light was better and she could see them. As she did so, they began making plans. When they had planned everything they could plan in advance, they still had four hours of travel time. Mitchell moved a few seats away to get some paperwork done, and Doc helped Vance stretch out on a sofa of sorts. Spreading a blanket over him, she said, “Why don’t you rest until we get back to DC? We’ll all need to be at the top of our game if we plan to help Eliot and his team.

He looked at her, a bit awkwardly, and said, “I never thought there’d come a day when I would ask you this, Doc, but I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep while I’m in the kind of pain I’m in right now, and I do want to be at the top of my game for Eliot’s sake, when we get back. I was hoping—”

“Shh,” she said, putting her index finger on his lips, and cutting him off. “Say no more.”

She pulled a pre-filled hypodermic from her bag, pulled the flaps to open the package, and pushing his sleeve up just slightly, she injected the medication into the veins in his wrist. A moment later, his eyes slipped closed. Then his breathing evened out, and he began snoring gently. She packed the materials back into her bag, and leaned back against her own seat, allowing her eyes to close, too. It was going to be a long haul. They might as well take the opportunity to rest when they could.


	19. Chapter 19

Shelley took the flash drive that had shut down Hardison’s computer once, and plugged it in to the USB port on the side. Touching several buttons, he opened a secret directory of secret files from a secret partition. Hardison’s eyes bugged out. Why hadn’t he been able to find that?

Shelley smiled at the other man’s discomfiture, and said, “You didn’t find it because you didn’t have the equipment to find it. The encryption on this thing is higher even than CIA standard.”

“I didn't know there was anything higher than CIA standard.”  
“You weren't supposed to know.” Shelley grinned. “People like you are the reason for equipment like this. If you could crack the pentagon servers at twelve, do you really think the US government is going to put its deepest, darkest secrets out where you and others like you can get to them? They learned from those mistakes, and now it requires equipment that isn't for sale to access secret servers on a ghost net.”

“That's not true.”

“Well now, you'll never know that for sure, will you?” Eliot and Shelley exchanged glances, and Eliot bit back a smile.

“What can you find out for me about Conrad and Atherton, and their time together as dust brothers?” Eliot asked Hardison, laying a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything you can give me. Roommates, possible transgressions, acquaintances, anything.”

“I'm on it.” Thoughts about what he couldn't access slipped from his head as he turned to his keyboard and found something he could do to help.

A moment later, the cover of a ceiling vent shot off and flew across the room, and Parker dropped down through the hole in the ceiling, and landed cat like on the bed right next to Eliot. He growled in annoyance.

“Parker, what are you doing?”

“Searching the house for bugs,” she said, matter of factly,  “and anything else that might help us. We're a team, Eliot, and while you and Hardison and Shelley are doing your thing, the rest of us may as well do what we do, too.” Eliot glanced over to make sure Nate and Sophie were still sitting in the corner, where he had left them.

“I called you all in here so you wouldn't run into the Italian's men. I don't want them thinking you are trying to leave.”

“Oh, I took care of them, too.” Eliot wasn't sure he wanted to know what that meant. He was almost afraid to ask.

“What did you do, Parker?”

“Did you know that the barn has a loft?”

“Most barns do.”

“Yes, but this one is different.” She smiled her slightly crazy smile before continuing. “It has a staircase, leading up to a large room,  with ten or twelve beds in it. The only way out is the door to the stairs, and the door that opens the loft to the outside, for ventilation. The door from the staircase was a hollow door which someone filled with cement, and the frame is reinforced steel. Even you would have to go some to break that door down. And the door that opens to the outside—well, it's forty feet off the ground. I couldn't do it without climbing equipment, and I made sure there wasn't any. I also made sure I'm the only one who can open that door, and that they can't communicate with anyone outside. I relieved them of phones, keys, and ID before I left them. I thought maybe Hardison could find something we could use against them if he had their IDs.”

Eliot was running through what she said in his mind, trying to determine if there was anything she had missed. He came up with nothing, so he said, “Nice work, Parker. What you did helps us, but it'll make you a target. Be careful, Sweetheart.”

“I will.”

About that time, their attention was pulled back to Hardison, who was looking at something on his computer screen. “Bingo,” he said.

When he didn't elaborate, Eliot growled and said, “What?”

“See for yourself,” Hardison replied, handing the computer over to Eliot. He wasn't sure what to make of the information he was seeing.

Eliot read silently for a moment, and then took his glasses off, cleaned them, and rubbed his eyes. He put the glasses back on, and looked at Nate. He and Sophie were deep in conversation over in their corner of the room.  “Nate?” he asked, waiting for the other man to acknowledge him.

“Yes?”

“Did you ever call in that favor from Wellesley?”

“No, why?”

“I think it may be time to do so.”

“How can he help us?”

“It seems our friendly neighborhood multimillionaire was assigned as mentor when a younger man, named James Conrad, joined the dust brothers. It also seems this mentor turned the younger man in to the university for alleged indiscretions with a certain young woman. If he hadn't been saved by a highly placed person in the government, he'd have been expelled.” Eliot broke off, thinking, and Hardison picked up where he left off.

“Now, Conrad's records are sealed, but Wellesley's aren't, because there was no reason for them to be, so I got a whiff of the scandal from his record. Seems old boy was a straight shooter, even in college.”

“We certainly need to talk to him,” Sophie said.

Nate considered for another moment, trying to fit this latest piece into the puzzle, and to figure out where it all fit in the master plan he and Eliot had discussed. After a moment, he shook himself slightly and said, “Well, let's go steal ourselves a Dust Man.”

(0o0)

Shelley knew that Eliot's team couldn't afford to stay behind for long. Since Parker locked the Italian's men in the barn's loft and confiscated their phones, it was likely that they would soon miss a check in, and then the Italian would be alerted, and would come out again to see what was going on. Shelley also knew that Eliot didn't want her to know about his military buddies or any of the other friends he might call on for help. He had convinced Eliot that he was the logical choice to stay behind and rendezvous with the others. In the first place, Shelley knew almost all of the same military people Eliot did, and in the second, both of them were adept at not being seen unless and until they wanted to be. Eliot needed to ensure the safety of his civilian team just now, so it fell to Shelley to quietly gather the rest of the reinforcements, including meeting Vance and Doc when they returned, which should be any time now, and rendezvousing with Eliot and the team in a currently undisclosed location. Eliot would send a clue to each person he called in to help, and when all of the clues were put together, it would tell them the location in which to meet.

(0o0)

Eliot had Nate hide Lucille in a thicket of trees near Wellesley's property line. They would go the rest of the way on foot. Parker was already in position to fool the security cameras, Hardison was hard at work in the back of the van, spoofing the alarms into thinking all was well, and Eliot was ready to take out any living guards, as well as guarding Nate and Sophie's approach to the house. Nate and Sophie would collect Wellesley and his wife, and convince them of the need to disappear with the team for a few days. If they weren't cooperative, Eliot was ready to insist. If all went according to plan, the Wellesley's shouldn't know anything was amiss until Nate and Sophie were sitting in the room with them.

As they made their way up the gravel drive, Eliot noticed the fences on either side of the property, and allowed the part of his brain that wasn't on sentry duty to admire the horses in the fields. Somebody had good taste in horse flesh.


	20. Chapter 20

Hardison spoofed the electronic locks, and they slid back soundlessly by themselves. Eliot opened the door and entered first, in case there were guards stationed near the doors. There were, and Eliot took them out in a matter of seconds. Moments later, they found Wellesley and his wife in the living room. Wellesley was seated at a massive mahogany desk, working, while his wife was seated on the sofa, deeply engrossed in a book she was reading.  Sophie sat in the chair across from her, while Nate and Eliot moved up next to Wellesley.

Suddenly, Wellesley felt eyes on him, and looked up to see Nate sitting across from him. His eyes grew wide, and he cleared his throat. “Mister Ford, you could have--”

“Called first? Yes, Mister Wellesley, I could have called first.”

“Should I be worried that I can't call my guards? I'm assuming I can't.” He said, eyeing Eliot with an expression of grudging respect. Eliot shook his head.

“Sorry,” he said.

Nate spoke up. “We aren't here to hurt you. You might not be safe here, and I may need to call in that favor you promised me.”

Eliot interrupted. “It would be best to discuss this somewhere else.”

“My security is top notch. It'll keep any security threats away.”

“We're not dealing with an ordinary security threat, and believe me, if we got in, the people we are dealing with are more than capable of getting in as well.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Accompany us somewhere safer.”

Walt Whitman Wellesley hesitated for a moment, considering what they had said. He had trusted them once before, but leaving his home, and going with them somewhere else. He wasn't sure it was necessary.  He owed them a favor, but it didn't involve leaving home and potentially putting  both himself and his wife in danger.

It was Lacey who solved the issue, finally. She said, “They more than earned our trust the last time. If they say it isn't safe to stay here, I have to believe they would know. I think we should go with them, Darling.”

Wellesley nodded, and said, “On the condition that my security accompanies us.”

Eliot wasn't sure he liked it, but he nodded to Nate, who had looked to him to see what he thought.

“As you wish,” Nate said.

Eliot led the way back out to the van, and he helped Nate and Wellesley load the unconscious security guards. They picked up the rest of Wellesley's security, along with Parker, at the gate, and sped off toward parts unknown.

“Where are we headed?” Nate asked.

“Nowhere yet. We're going to be sure we aren't followed, and then we'll go someplace safe to talk, with some extra security. The results of that conversation will determine where we go next, and when.”

Eliot drove out into the countryside, along several back roads, circling back around to cover ground they'd been over before. When he was sure they weren't being followed, he drove out to one of the safe houses the team still maintained in the suburbs around Boston, Massachusetts. Even when the team had moved to Portland, they had found it prudent to keep some of the safe houses they had held when they were in Boston. Those were off the grid places that even Interpol knew nothing about. They had paid the purchase price in cash, and since there was no requirement to file the deed with the county or the state, they hadn't done so. In Hardison's mind, that had been the best way to ensure that no one could trace it back to them. It was even better than connecting it back to a shell company. Finally, he pulled into the driveway of a house in a non-descript neighborhood, in the suburbs. Opening the glove compartment, he took out a garage door opener, and pressed the button, watching as the garage door rose. When it was up far enough, he drove inside, and hit the button again, to close the door behind them.  No one moved until the door had closed completely. Then, all at once, the doors of the van opened and they all piled out.

Eliot took two of Wellesley's men with him to secure the perimeter and then do a security sweep. They finished inside the house, and Eliot walked out and opened the door to the garage, ushering everyone else in. Putting a finger to his lips for silence, he ushered them all back to an inside room without windows. When they were seated,  with Wellesley's guards stationed throughout the house, he looked at Nate, and motioned him to ask his questions.

“You went to college with a man named James Conrad, correct?”

“James Conrad. I haven't heard that name in years.”

“The name's familiar then?”

“I wish it wasn't. That scandal cost me a great deal, both personally and professionally.  It was a black eye on my family's good name for years. If my parents hadn't had a reputation that was above reproach, we might never have recovered.”

“Well, then, you might not wish to help us, and I respect that.”

“I owe you a favor, Mister Ford. I take that seriously. Ask.”

“Mister Conrad has become a highly placed member of a particular government office, and we ran afoul of him when we were trying to help one of our clients.”

“Must have been some client if you ran afoul of the CIA.” Eliot looked at the man before him, and when their eyes met, they understood one another.

“Surprised?” Wellesley asked, looking each member of the team in the eye, one at a time. “Part of the reason my security is so tight. The man almost cost me my livelihood once, so you can be sure I follow him closely. My men probably know his schedule as well as he does.”

“Does he know that?”

“It wouldn't surprise me, but I haven't made it known, if that's what you are asking.”

“Good. After we took down a protege of his, he made it clear that we were on his radar. It was only a matter of time before he would come after us.” Nate paused and glanced at Eliot, unsure of how much of what happened to the hitter he should tell.

Eliot spoke up, “He tried to kill me, and almost succeeded.”

“What do you want from me?” Wellesley asked.

“Most business executives have some connections. We were hoping you might use some of them to help us take him down.”

“With pleasure.”

“If he catches wind of what you are doing, both you and your wife are in danger. I would like for you to stay here, and I'd like to send some friends of mine to enhance your security. You have plenty of space to work and make any calls you need to make, and we'll meet you back here as soon as we put the next part of the plan in action. If all goes according to plan, this shouldn't take more than forty eight hours. You'll be back at Wellesley Manor before you know it.”

“I suppose you can't guarantee our safety.”

Nate shook his head. “There are no guarantees.”

“All right. Forty eight hours. In that time, I'll make contact with the friends I have in the government, and see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

“Seeing that SOB get what's coming to him is thanks enough for me.”


	21. Chapter 21

As soon as the airplane was back over American airspace, Doc's and Vance's phones sounded simultaneously. Doc withdrew hers, scrolled to the messages, and looked at hers. It was from Eliot, and it was her part of the message telling them where to meet. They would all have to put the messages together to know exactly where the meeting would take place. Eliot had asked that they confirm receipt of the message with Shelley. Vance was still sleeping, so she withdrew his phone from the front pocket of his uniform jacket, and looked at his message. When she finished, she picked up her own phone again, and sent a message to Shelley. She planned to let Vance sleep until they landed, which was still an hour or so away, so she returned Vance's phone to his pocket, and moved over next to Mitchell, who had been watching her inquisitively, and began holding a whispered conversation with him.

(0o0)

Conrad and his men were posted at a distance, watching the safe house from different aerial and ground vantage points. If he did this correctly, the team should never even know what hit them, but in the end, he wanted them to know that he had won. Holding the binoculars to his eyes, he saw that there was no movement around the outside of the house. He smiled to himself—a dangerous smile. They would never know what hit them. Touching the earbud in his ear, he began speaking quietly.           

He watched as his men fanned out and surrounded the house his opponents were in, careful not to be seen.  The house where Spencer and his team had holed up sat on three acres, and as soon as they were inside, he had ordered his men to set up a perimeter of explosives and an alarm system to let them know if anyone else crossed the perimeter. As his men fanned out, they laid explosives right next to the house, and he watched as one prepared to cut the lights and another accessed the HVAC system.

(0o0)

The plane circled the old, abandoned airstrip twice, making preparations for landing. A few moments later, it was down, and screaming down the runway toward the terminal. Doc felt the familiar lurch in her stomach as the craft abruptly slowed, and then taxied into the terminal and stopped. Doc was gently shaking Vance, and a second later, he opened his eyes, slowly, somewhat disoriented. He coughed, and his voice broke as he said, “Doc.”

“Wake up. We're at grandma's house. Rise and shine.” She smiled at him, and he couldn't help but laugh.  She took his hands and guided him into a sitting position, quickly listening to his chest as he was getting his bearings. His lungs were clear, his heartbeat strong and steady. The sleep seemed to have done him some good. There was no time to waste, but the health of the patients in her care was something Doc would not compromise, and both men knew better than to make any comment. As soon as she finished, they hit the tarmac running, and piled into the government issue SUV Mitchell had waiting for them.  Doc helped Vance into the backseat, and climbed in beside him, while Mitchell climbed into the front and they sped off toward the rendezvous point Shelley had given them. The whole team would meet there, put together their clues, and move on to Eliot's location.

 (0o0)

Conrad was still watching as his men made preparations. He was getting ready to give the order to move in, but he wanted to be sure that no one moved in before he did. He wanted to see them, up close and personal, when the world came crashing down around them. He jumped slightly and turned around when he heard a twig snap behind him.  He couldn't see anything there. Deciding that the anticipation of the situation was getting the best of him, he spoke into his earpiece again.

“Go, go, go.” He watched as his men began to move in. He stiffened as he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked behind him. Swallowing hard, he started to turn around, and the butt of the gun jabbed him in the back.

“Don't turn around,” said a distorted voice. “Walk.”

Conrad's heart sank and his eyes grew wide. The perimeter alarm they set should have sounded to let them know that someone had crossed the perimeter, and the explosives should have taken care of them. Instead, nothing happened. The butt of the gun jabbed him again, and he started to move toward the safe house where Eliot and his team were holed up.   

(0o0)

Eliot led Wellesley and his wife, along with the rest of the team, into a back bedroom. Moving as quietly as possible, he walked straight into the large walk-in closet, and made his way all the way to the back. Lifting a section of the floor that turned out to be a trap door, he sent two of Wellesley's security men through the tunnel first, then Wellesley and his wife, and finally, the rest of the team. Eliot crawled into the tunnel behind them, pulling the trap door closed behind him.

The tunnel widened about two hundred yards out from the house, and the group was able to spread out some.  Eliot made sure to keep the team and the Wellesley's between the two security contingents. Further down, the tunnel grew dimmer, giving the sense that they were moving further underground.  All of them were wondering where these tunnels led, and how long they would be in there before they reached their destination.

They felt themselves moving downhill, and the impulse to run grew stronger.

A few minutes later, they emerged from the tunnel into a rather large, pitch black building.  Nate fumbled around for the small flashlight he usually kept in his pocket, when he heard a sharp scratching sound, and then saw the blue flame of a lit match. A moment later, the room slowly came into focus as the match was used to light a kerosene storm lantern. The team blinked, trying to get their bearings, and when their eyes adjusted to the dimness, they saw Eliot's friend, Master Yu, standing before them, grinning broadly.

“Welcome. This is the first rendezvous point. Eliot wanted the Wellesley's to stay here with me, and he wanted me to tell you that Shelley will have instructions for you all when he reaches us.”

When he spoke, the team looked around, realizing that Eliot was no longer with them. They wondered if he had stayed behind in the tunnel. 


	22. Chapter 22

The gun in Conrad's back continued prodding him forward, and he continued walking. There was nothing else to be done at the moment. When they reached the door of the house, Conrad stopped, hesitant to go inside with the explosives around the perimeter. The gun barrel jammed harder into his kidneys, and he heard the weapon's hammer slide back.

_Good. Their plan was working. Conrad had figured he could allow Eliot to think he was in control, and then use him as bait to draw out the rest of his team. Conrad had learned his lesson on that last time. He would never again underestimate Eliot, or the fact that the man had almost unlimited human resources to draw on for help. All he had to do was keep walking, and with any luck, his men would take them all out together, and they would have an escape route for him. They had figured about ten different contingencies into the master plan._

When they reached the inside of the house, Conrad was stopped in his tracks, jaw dropping at the sight before him. All of his men, who had been supposed to be watching Eliot's team inside the building, were piled one atop the other, neatly bound and gagged, in a corner.  Eliot sat at a small workbench in the corner of the room, cleaning a long-range rifle and polishing its scope.

“Game's over, Conrad,” he growled.

“I have intelligence on you from every US law enforcement agency in existence, and from at least three different governments abroad. I've made it my business to learn everything I possibly could know about Eliot Spencer and his known associates. You should be dead now.”

Eliot didn't comment. He seemed engrossed in the task before him, and when he finished polishing the scope, he placed it back on the rifle, and then attached the ammunition clip. Without bothering to look up at the man standing before him, he spoke again. 

“Really? So what do you think went wrong with your plan?”

Conrad stared at him. It was a fair question.  Finally, he said, “Oh, nothing that can't be remedied.”

 He looked at his watch. Two seconds later, the door burst open, and too many people to count swarmed inside, drawing weapons as they came. Their stances and their haircuts said ex-military, but Eliot didn't have time to count how many unique outfits were represented. He found himself surrounded, staring down the barrel of more than a dozen guns. Carefully, he lowered the weapon in his hand down to his side. It wouldn't be good for Conrad's men to get the wrong idea. Resisting the urge to check his own watch, Eliot wondered if the second part of the plan was underway yet. If it wasn't, it should be soon. Any minute now, really. The best thing he could do was distract Conrad as much as possible, so he kept talking.

“Are you sure about that?”

Conrad knew what Eliot was doing. The hitter was trying to bait him. Surprisingly, it was working. Well, he wouldn't give the other man the satisfaction. Besides, two could play at that game.

“You chose the losing team, Spenser.”

“We'll see.” The man's utter confidence was disconcerting. Moments later, there was a resounding crash as the window exploded inward and smoke filled the room— _gas grenade._ Using the smoke for cover, Eliot rushed the two men nearest him, and he had disarmed both of them and knocked them out in the time it took for the members of his team to come pouring through the door.

Seconds after that, they were engaged in various forms and stages of hand to hand combat. As the smoke started to clear, Eliot saw Conrad trying to slip away. Disentangling himself from his current opponent, he followed as quickly as he could.  

(0o0)

As Eliot left the room, he came face to face with the Italian, who was being held at gunpoint by Conrad's men. A moment later, the guns that had been pointing at her were now pointed at both of them, and he had a sudden flashback to a room in a hotel, with a swimming pool, in which a dozen or more guns had been pointed at him. He gazed calmly back at some of the men, whom he recognized from that day. So these were Moreau's men.

“Let me guess—these are the men who sold you out?”

She nodded, not wanting to say too much.

“Do exactly as I say, and I'll get us both out of here.”

“Alive?”

“Let's hope so. Get ready to run. Wait for my signal.”

She nodded that she understood.

He looked at the men surrounding them. “What is it that Moreau promised you?”

One of the men took the measure of Eliot's question for a moment and then said, “Protection in exchange for our loyalty.” As the man was speaking, Eliot was inching ever closer to him, so slowly that he didn't seem to move.

“Protection? The man's in prison. How can he protect you?”

“He promised not to send his men after us, if we cooperate.”

“Moreau isn't your problem now. I am,” he said, using the barrel of the rifle to pull the man in closer and knocking him out. He dispatched three others in quick succession. The other eight men in the room, sensing the danger, ganged up on him and started punching and kicking him. Eliot, who still wasn't well from all that he had faced, was growing weaker, but he refused to let up before he knew the others were safe. Underneath all of the noise of the fight, he heard a _whoosh,_ and one of the men before him dropped to the ground and lay utterly still. Seconds later there were several more whooshing sounds, and one by one each of the men before him dropped. A moment later, the Italian dropped as well. Eliot looked around for the source of the noise, trying to figure out exactly what had happened, but there was no one in the room with them. A moment later, he saw a flash of gold from the air vent, and Parker waved to him, smiling her crazy smile, and holding up a blow gun. He shook his head. This wasn't part of the plan, but it seemed the team was improvising—helping where they could help.

He didn't stop to think too much about what was happening. Those members of his team performing a sweep behind the others would clean up the mess in here. He had bigger fish to fry. Taking a moment to stretch, he knew he would be less visible underground, and that would help his team maintain the element of surprise. Without allowing himself to think too much about what the rest of the team was doing, and whether the plan was working, he flung himself through the trap door, slamming it closed behind him.

                (0o0)

Master Yu had led Nate, Sophie, Hardison and the Wellesley's to a small, underground room, completely enclosed by steel walls, reinforced with iron. Hardison had the small laptop he had been using of Shelley's out, and he pulled a small pair of headphones from his bag, and hooked them up. He had found the frequency Conrad's men were on, and he hijacked their signal for listening purposes, trying to locate Eliot. The search was difficult since there was no video to judge by, but Hardison thought he had found it. He heard the punches and kicks that sounded like someone was being beaten viciously, and then he heard several grunts of pain, and a growl that could only belong to Eliot. Then, he heard a whistling sound, followed by a loud thump and an even louder silence. This was followed by several others of each, and Hardison thought he knew what had happened, even if he couldn't see it, and he would just bet that Parker had had something to do with it. When he heard the trap door close, and then there was silence on the comms, he glanced at Nate. The Mastermind's expression was growing more forbidding the longer he listened.

When their eyes met, Hardison knew that Nate wasn't happy about sitting here helpless while his Hitter might be in trouble, knowing these men were those working for Moreau. He alone knew what it had cost Eliot the last time he had faced off with Moreau and his men. The man had been good at hiding it from the others, and he had saved the team, so Nate would honor his request to keep it from the rest of the team, but that victory had come at a high cost, and while he knew Eliot had recovered, it had been a long recovery period.

“Hardison, can you do anything to help keep Conrad's team from locating Eliot before he wishes to be found?”

Hardison smiled widely, glad to be able to do something to help. “What do you think?” The question was rhetorical, and he hadn't even finished asking it before he was typing on his keyboard. 


	23. Chapter 23

As quickly as he could, Eliot used his military training to pick up Conrad's trail.  Walking on the balls of his feet, Eliot followed Conrad as quickly and quietly as possible through the tunnels that ran underneath the city. As he did so, the long buried predatory instincts ingrained during sniper training welled up within him, and he smiled a wolfish smile. Eliot Spencer was on the hunt.

Conrad had initially been quite a ways ahead of him, since he had been delayed dealing with Moreau's men and the Italian, but Eliot was clearly more adept at slogging through the sewer than the CIA man was. He was in danger of catching up. The hitter paused as he heard clanking on the metal ladder that led above ground. That meant Conrad was in the alcove just ahead of him, and he didn't want the other man to know he was following. If the map he had drawn in his head was correct, there was another, larger pipe junction a little bit further down, which would bring him out around a corner from where he was now. That's what showed on the map, anyway.

Eliot moved on past where Conrad was climbing up the ladder, and as quietly as possible, he climbed up one of his own. It took some effort to push the heavy iron manhole cover aside, and made more noise than he liked as well. He cursed to himself that he hadn't thought that part of it through any better than he had, but with a grunt and a final mighty heave, the cover slid aside enough for him to squeeze out through the space between. He found himself in an alley, and he had a choice to make. He could either head for higher ground or take cover in the alley in which he found himself. He had no doubt that Conrad had heard the scraping of the manhole cover and might, even now, be coming to investigate.

Just then, he saw it. An open door with a staircase that had to lead up to the roof of the building. The beauty of it was that it was inside the building, so even though the door was propped open, he wouldn't be visible to anyone after he cleared the first landing. Without stopping to think too much about what he was doing, knowing that for this plan to work, it was essential that time was in his favor, and he determined to keep it that way.

As soon as he had climbed the ten flights of stairs, and burst out onto the roof, taking care not to let the metal door clang shut behind him, he dropped to his knees and immediately crawled over to the edge of the roof, pulling up on the edge of the building to look into the alleyway down below.  No one was there, and his internal time-sense told him that he had a little bit of time. Knowing that either way, there was no time to waste, Eliot reached around and grasped the bag he carried on his bag, almost reverently bringing it to the front of his body and, in one smooth movement, lifting it over his head. He unzipped it and laid the pieces of his sniper rifle out one by one, inspecting them carefully as he did so. He was glad to see that they all appeared to be dry and clean. With the deftness bred of years of experience, he fitted the pieces together,  and smiled his wolfish smile again when he heard the click that signified it went together properly and was ready for loading. He then proceeded to load it and to fit the scope. When that was done, he dropped forward onto his belly and inched closer to the edge, taking care to stay far enough back that he wouldn't fall, and to take a position that allowed him to see down into the alley and to also see the door that opened to the roof. He wanted to be ready.

(0o0)

She wasn't sure who she was for a moment, as she lay there in the darkness. The steady hum in the background turned into half whispered conversation, in English as far as she could tell, and the air carried an almost electric charge of purposeful energy. She opened her eyes, and focused in on the face right above her—striking green eyes that missed nothing gazing out from inside a shock of red curly hair.

“Ehilà. Bentornato. No, non provare a sedersi. Non ancora.” She was mildly surprised to hear her native language, though heavily accented,  spoken by the woman looming above her, blocking her view of the rest of the room. The voice and the eyes were friendly enough, but the hand that stopped her upwards motion was like iron, and she found herself slightly panicked. The person speaking to her must have noticed the look on her face, because she heard a quiet laugh and then the voice in her ear sounded again.

“Non c'è bisogno di panico. Sono il dottor Kitty Carrington, tra l'altro. Sei al sicuro qui, con noi, per il momento.” With a slightly pained expression at the sound of her own accent, the woman speaking switched to English and continued. “I'm sorry. My Italian is a bit rusty.” She made a mental note to remedy that situation as soon as she had a free moment to do so. “I just want to be sure you don't have any injuries I might have missed before I allow you to sit up.”  With those words, the doctor proceeded with the examination, and when she was finished, she put a hand under her patient's elbow, and helped her steer herself into a sitting position. For a moment, the Italian just sat, taking in the room,  which seemed to be some sort of makeshift combination infirmary and meeting space. Small groups were huddled in various places in the room, doing different things. Hardison sat at a table in one corner of the room, working on his laptop.  Occasionally, he whispered something to Parker or Sophie. After a moment, he rose, and walked over to where an older man sat next to a younger woman. He pointed to something on the screen, and they held a whispered conversation. As she looked around her, she noticed that there were a rather large number of men seated or lying against the wall, totally immobilized.

“My men?” The Italian asked, realizing none of them were in the room.

“They're safe.” Doc Carrington didn't elaborate. Instead, she rose and moved over next to a large man in rather tattered clothing.

“Who are they?” the Italian asked, indicating the men who were tied up.

“Those are some of Mister Conrad's reinforcements. They made the mistake of trying to sweep our team from behind. What they didn't know is that we anticipated that, and half our team stayed behind to sweep the sweepers. After our men dropped these fellows off, they joined the rest of Eliot's team—the initial sweepers, and they all went after Conrad.” While she was speaking, she was filling the hypo in her hand. When she finished, she capped the syringe and placed it carefully in two of her belt loops. Within seconds, she had filled three more, and she placed them one by one within her belt loops as well.

“Found him!” Hardison exclaimed.

When she heard those words, Doc rose faster than anyone thought possible. “Where?”

“Here,” Hardison said, plucking a piece of paper from the printer and pointing to a place on it. Doc took it from him and headed for the door. Vance followed her.

“Colonel, you need rest.”

“Yeah, like that's gonna happen with Eliot engaged in a life and death situation.”

“Do I have to pull rank?”

“You wouldn't dare.”

The look she gave him asked if he was serious, and reminded him that she would indeed pull rank, if necessary. “In the condition you are in, you could be a liability to the team. And the people here need guarding. Your best bet right now is to stay here and guard the place. Leave the backup to Shelley and me.”

“Sorry. I can't do that.” The two military officers stood toe to toe, glaring at one another, with volumes of unspoken information passing between them like some sort of electrical current. Master Yu stepped up beside and slightly between them, and said, “Kitty, may I speak to you outside?”

Still glaring at Vance, she followed her fellow medicine man into another, smaller room which was off the room they were all holed up in. When they were out of earshot of the others, Kitty turned and speared Master Yu with a glare that could melt lead. Yu didn't back down, which raised her estimation of the man a notch.

“If I might make an observation?” he asked. She said nothing, she simply nodded slightly to let him know that she was listening. “Forcing the Colonel to stay is within your rights, as the medical officer in charge of his care, and I'll grant you that it might even be good for him to be reminded that he is not in total control of everything, but if you are truly wanting him to rest, I would wager that won't happen as long as Eliot is in danger. Colonel Vance needs to feel like he is doing something to help, even if he can't do everything he might normally be able to do. You and he are much the same in that respect.”

She said nothing, nodding pensively as he finished speaking. A moment later, he turned to go back inside, but stopped when he got to the door and turned back. “Oh, and if you're worried about protection, you needn't be. I am more than capable of keeping these people safe.” With that, he turned toward the door again, and went into the other room. She followed a moment later, still looking pensive. 

Vance met her as she came in and said quietly, “Let me go with you. Please Doc. I'll take it easy. I promise.” She stared at him for another moment, weighing what she knew of the mission and of their plan against what she knew of his health status. It was her job to make sure they were all fit for service, after all, no matter what anyone else thought or said. Finally, she spoke in a voice full of steel.

“Three conditions, Vance.”

“Which are?”

“One—You take it easy, as you've promised. If there's something you can't do, or if you start feeling the least bit dizzy or lightheaded, you let me know what's going on immediately—no sugar coating or downplaying the incident. Two, If I see you getting weaker and decide to pull you out, you don't fight me. Three—when this mission is over, you will report to my infirmary, where you will stay until I release you to go home. While you are there, you will cooperate with whatever I decide we need to do.”

“I can live with that.”

“Good. You might not have a choice. Let's go.”

(0o0)

General Flores stared at the phone's receiver in disbelief. Slowly, his head cleared and he realized he was still holding it in his hand. Looking around furtively, to be sure no one was watching too closely, a fact one couldn't depend upon in the tiny country of San Lorenzo, he hung the receiver up and sat back in his chair, thinking hard. He hadn't recognized the voice on the other end, nor had the person talking taken the time to identify themselves. He understood that the situation was urgent, though.

Checking his security cameras, he saw that the President was meeting with his cabinet. That should keep him tied up for at least another hour. It wasn't that he thought the President would mind—the people in question had helped him win the Presidency, after all, but he had found that it was sometimes better to ask forgiveness than permission. Still, not helping where Spencer was involved was not going to happen—whether he was given permission or not. He owed the man a blood debt—a debt of honor, and he took that responsibility very seriously.

With thoughts along those lines still churning through his head, he picked up another phone on his desk, and dialed a number. He listened for a moment, and when the voice on the other end finally picked up, he said, “Cut off all visitors to Moreau's cell. He will see no one. Monitor his mail. Do this until you receive further orders.”

He barely waited until he received an answer in the affirmative, and then he slammed the phone down and stalked out of his office and down the hallway to the main security office. He flipped a switch to turn on the wall of cameras and stood watching the multiple screens pensively.

 

 

****


	24. Chapter 24

Doc's military training had taught her to stay in a constant state of readiness, and it had become a habit that was hard to break. Much like Eliot, she and Vance were always ready to leave at a moment's notice. They never carried luggage either, but she was sure to always have her field medical kit. As they rose to leave this time, however, they found the door mostly blocked by Eliot's team. Nate had found himself spontaneously wedged in the back of the group, as the team closed in around him. Glaring at no one in particular, he cleared his throat and very subtly, the group parted just a bit to allow him a path through to the front. He moved over in front of the door, and spoke just as Doc reached him.

“We want to help.”

Doc took the measure of the mastermind for a moment and then said, “I know. I'm sorry, but we can't allow that. Conrad is a threat to national security, and that makes this a military mission. I've had cause to appreciate your—how shall we say—unique skill set in the past, but be that as it may, you are still civilians, and we cannot guarantee your safety.”

Hardison spoke up. “We were civilians a few months ago as well, and Vance still involved us in the events at the pig farm.”

She looked at Vance. “Do you want to explain that or shall I?”

Vance looked uncomfortable. Then he said, “That wasn't an officially sanctioned mission. Anyway, I was in charge of that mission. I'm not in charge of this one. Eliot has made it clear that he wants you to stay here. I suspect that's his way of keeping you safe.”

As he stared at her, another question occurred to Nate, and so he asked it. “Just tell me one thing, Kitty. This business with Eliot staying behind in the tunnel—was that part of the plan?” She didn't answer—she only stared at him through narrowed eyes. “Because I'm thinking you wouldn't be so anxious about it or so eager to find him if everything was going according to the plan you discussed.”

“You don't know me well enough to know that, nor do you know enough about the situation.”

The mastermind hesitated. That was true. He tried another tactic. “I'm sure you remember the last time our team went up against Conrad. He almost killed us. Part of the reason he came as close as he did is because I didn't listen when Eliot told me the man was a threat. I was more concerned with Eliot getting better, and that told Eliot I didn't care to help solve the problem, so he called you all in and solved it himself. I've not been able to quite forgive myself for that. This is part of the fallout from that. So, it is understandable to me that he tried to keep us all out of it this time, but I hope you understand when I tell you I can't. I just can't.”

“There's likely to be even more fallout if you don't stay here when he's put you here to keep you all safe. And if one of you is injured or any of the people who stay behind are injured, the fallout is likely to be nuclear.”

“Thermo-nuclear,” Vance corrected. _And you won't be the only ones facing fallout, in that case,_ he thought.

“I understand that. I'll deal with it when it comes.”

After a moment, Doc and Vance glanced at each other, and though no words passed between them, and nothing visible, Doc finally said, “All right. Truth to tell, we could use your help, but if one of us tells you or any member of your team to do something, you do it, immediately, no questions asked. Deal?”

Nate looked at the other members of his team, looking for their acceptance of the terms. Each one greeted him with a small nod.

“Deal,” he said quietly.

“Let's go.”

(0o0) 

A sudden thought occurred to Hardison as they prepared to leave. He looked at Nate.

“Do you think Eliot is wearing his earbud?”

“He left us here for our safety and doesn't want us to be able to track him. What do you think?”

“Good. I'm glad we agree,” he said, holding out a closed fist toward Kitty.  She placed her hand underneath it, and he dropped three extra earbuds into it. She gave him a funny look. “Give the third one to Eliot when you see him. He knows they can be tracked, so he doesn't carry one when he doesn't want to be found, but he may need it before the mission is over.”

Doc quickly handed one of the earbuds to Vance and they both placed them in their left ears. Then a thought occurred to her. “The CIA can track anything electronic. We found that out last time we tangled with Conrad.”

“Correction: The CIA can track anything electronic, except these. These were developed by Eliot's friend Shelley after our last run in with Mr. Dust Man, and from what I understand, even the CIA can't track them. But just to be sure, I'll be bouncing a dozen ghost signals off of towers all over the world, along with the real ones. And those signals will duplicate every five seconds, so by the time they figure out which ones are the real ones, we'll be finished and long gone, with any luck. Still, if you are worried, we can always talk in code. I'm thinking science fiction, myself.”

Doc leveled an even stare at the young man, and he fell silent. “You do realize you are talking about some of the world's best code breakers, don't you? No. This won't work if they can pick up any part of our conversation. Better not to do it at all if we can't be sure. Eliot's life hangs in the balance.”

“Well, let's run a test.” Without giving them time to wonder if the test would give away their position, he touched a button, and a small dot appeared on the screen, halfway around the world from their location. They watched in fascination as it grew into a line, and then Vance said, “Well, all I can say is that I'm glad you're on our side.” With that, he and Doc sprinted out the door, and the rest of the team found themselves hard pressed to keep up. Hardison felt himself being pulled along with them, and he started to protest, wanting to return to the “bat cave” he had scoped out for himself early on. Vance had an iron grip on his arm, and he heard a voice in his ear. “We may need you and your machines with us this time.”

 Moments later, Doc noticed the team had settled into the rhythm. She was going as slow as she dared, and having an injured man set the pace, so she figured everyone would be able to keep up well enough.  Hardison was panting slightly, but they could understand his whispered instructions.

(0o0)

Eliot had been sitting statue still for the past twenty minutes, watching for any sign of Conrad. He had purposely chosen a position that kept him alert and focused, but allowed him to sit comfortably. He couldn't afford to get distracted before this was done. He wondered why Conrad hadn't yet shown up.  What game was he playing?

And then, all at once, there was movement in the entrance to the alley. Footsteps sounded on the asphalt, dress shoes from the sound of it, and the footsteps were sure, confident, purposeful.  Eliot's pulse quickened, his grip tightened on the rifle he had propped on the roof, and his vision narrowed to what he could see through his scope. Time slowed down, each second longer than the last. _Deep breath,_ he told himself, and then, _pull, don't squeeze._ His finger found the trigger of his rifle, and he tensed, waiting.

Then he saw them. Two people, a couple, stumbling into the alley, kissing and trying to walk at the same time, blinded by their passions and looking for a place to be alone. A couple in dress clothing, looking like they came from a night at the theatre. Oblivious to the danger he represented. A moment later, they disappeared into an abandoned building, and Eliot let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He contemplated briefly how lucky that couple was that it was him up here, and not some other sniper, who would shoot first and sort it out later. He shut that thought out of his mind, and stretched as unobtrusively as possible.

He cut the stretch off early because the next sound that greeted his ears was a light metallic clanking sound, as though someone was knocking on the side of a dumpster. Following the sound with his scope, he finally zeroed in on the person making the sound. He relaxed fractionally when he found that it was an old wino, bumping into the dumpsters because he could barely stand up. He considered firing a shot, just to sober the guy up, but that would draw attention to him that he just didn't need. The drunk climbed up the side of one of the dumpsters, apparently looking for something to eat, but he found himself sinking into the pile of garbage that overflowed the top of the dumpster, and not possessing the manual dexterity to climb back out, decided to give in to the situation, and disappeared from sight. Soon, he could be heard snoring loudly through the garbage.

Seconds later, he heard the sound of many pairs of running feet, and he tensed, all senses on the alert. His finger found its place on the trigger once again, and he felt his heart thudding in his chest. His focus was razor sharp, and after a moment, all environmental factors faded into the background, to be dealt with in some part of his mind he had placed on sentry duty. The only things that were real in that moment—the only things that existed, were his gun, himself, and whomever was about to walk into his field of vision. He tilted his head slightly to look through the scope, and his finger tightened on the trigger, in anticipation.

In the end, he heard the man before he saw him. Arrogant, taunting. Still having no idea of the danger he faced. The feral gleam in Eliot's eyes deepened, but there was no sign of the wolfish smile he had had while on the hunt. This time, his smile was that of the fox. Cunning. Deceitful. Deadly.

“Spencer! I suggest you surrender. My men have you surrounded. You won't leave this alley alive.”

“Bold words, but I doubt you can back them. Easy to be bold when you're speaking as a ghost. Come on out here and face me. Man to man, Conrad.”

 


	25. Chapter 25

The four other members of Eliot's team, plus Vance and Kitty skidded to a stop to keep from running into Conrad at the entrance to the alley. With Eliot in assassin mode, it made sense to approach with caution.  It wouldn't be good for anybody if they got caught in the crossfire, and it would be even worse if they ended up as collateral damage. Using hand signals, and being careful to stay in the shadows near the edges of the alley, some of the members of Eliot's team moved into the alley and toward the building upon which Eliot was posted, being sure to stay near the wall, in the shadows, and as quiet as possible.

Vance had been charged with keeping Hardison safe, as he looked for a place to plug in his computer and help. He moved them both into the building, and leaving Hardison on one of the lower landings, he didn’t make a sound as he moved up the stairs to clear Eliot’s exit. He knew Eliot would have been aware if anyone was on the roof with him, so he made his way, quickly and quietly up the stairs that led to the roof of the building and when he was satisfied that no one was there, he made his way back down, and hid in the shadows, watching and waiting to see what would happen. Moments later, he heard the clank of a heavy footfall on the stairs below and sank back into the shadows.

Vance watched as a well-dressed man moved toward him on the stairs, gun drawn. When he was close enough, Vance reached out and grabbed it, pulling it (along with its owner) toward him. In one smooth motion, he relieved the man of his gun and wrenched his arm up behind his back, completely immobilizing him. A well-aimed punch knocked the man out, and Vance proceeded to lay him out and begin searching him for ID. A moment later, a wide streak of black cut across Vance’s consciousness and his knees buckled, and he crumbled to the ground. Kicking straight out in front of her with her foot, she sent the large man tumbling backwards down the stairs. Cringing at the horrific noise, the woman followed him down and retrieved the gun her partner had lost, and placed her own back into its place of concealment, since she no longer needed it for the moment. She then proceeded to tie Vance securely, so that he was completely immobilized.

Hardison watched the reflection in his computer screen with wide eyes and tried to look busy, and as though he didn’t notice what was going on behind him. A moment later, someone grasped him firmly by his arm, and he felt the barrel of a gun against his temple.

“Walk.” Hardison stared in amazement at the woman forcing him to move forward, and he saw her, almost as though he was watching in slow motion, pick up his computer and throw it with some force down the stairs. His heart sank as he heard the resultant crash.

(0o0)

A moment later, Eliot heard a voice. “Here I am, Spencer. Come and get me.”

Eliot suddenly saw him through the scope of his rifle, and was just about to squeeze the trigger when he heard the trap door behind him clank open and the sound of a gun being cocked.  Like lightning, he turned around, turning his gun with him, and his heart nearly stopped.  The couple he had seen earlier, nuzzling one another, were standing behind him. The man held Hardison in an iron grip, holding a gun to his head with the other hand, while the woman held a gun on Eliot. The hitter froze, and then spoke quietly.

“Put the guns down before someone gets hurt.” He ever so slowly took a step forward.

“You first.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t do that.  Now then, I’m giving you ten seconds to walk out of here. Nine.”

The man and woman exchanged glances, unsure of what to do. Eliot looked through the scope on his rifle, sighting in on the target. At the same time, he slowly counted down the numbers in his head, wondering all the while if this plan would work, and hoping it did.

“Eight,” he said, taking a step closer.

“You understand I’ll shoot you?” The woman spoke and her voice shook.

 “I understand you’ll try, and maybe you’ll hit me and maybe you won’t, but this--” he said, touching his sniper rifle almost lovingly, “from this distance, this thing’ll blow your heads clean off.”

“It’ll take him out, too,” the man said, motioning to Hardison. Eliot looked Hardison in the eye for the first time, studying the man who had become his brother over the past few years. He was pale, but determined. Almost imperceptibly he nodded, giving Eliot permission to do whatever he had to do to save the others, and get them all out of this situation.

“Probably. He knew that was a possibility long before today.” He paused, looking once more through his scope. “Three,” he said softly, as he squeezed the trigger. Dispassionately, he watched the headless man crumble, for he hadn’t been joking when he said the rifle would take their heads off, and he barely registered Hardison go down underneath him.

 Eliot’s attention had already turned to the woman standing next to them. She was a professional. The vibe he had gotten from her was that they really were romantically involved, and he had been counting on the shock factor to buy him some time. It bought him precious little, but it was enough. Without thinking, she had moved forward, and he had done so deliberately, and that put him in range of her weapon.

She had just aimed and put her finger back on the trigger when his knuckles came smashing up through the air, connecting with her nose and making her cross eyed. He relieved her of the weapon and promptly disarmed it. Then, he spun her around and twisted her arms up behind her back until she was breathing heavy with the pain of it. Holding her with one hand, he took his belt off with the other, and secured her to the building’s railing, so tightly that movement was impossible. He hoped she wasn’t afraid of heights.

Moving over to her would be boyfriend, he kicked the man over onto his back and reached down to help Hardison up. After checking to be sure his friend was all right, though shaken, he led him over to where the girl was sitting and growled, “Stay with her” before moving off again.

Belly crawling over to the edge of the roof and peering over, he saw Conrad below, along with Kitty and Nate and wait, was that Mitchell ( _but he’s dead!?!)?_ He moved away from the edge of the roof, promptly deciding that his mind must be playing tricks on him, and he couldn’t have seen what he thought he saw below, he started sighting in his rifle again, on a new target this time, or perhaps it was better to call it an old target.

Satisfied that he had squelched the threat on the roof, he went about the business of preparing to fire his rifle. One by one the things in the outside world fell away, until all that was left was the feel of the rifle in his hands, and the narrow field of vision in the scope. Every detail of Conrad’s form was in high focus, but he saw Doc behind the man, holding her gun on him, and he didn’t want to take a chance on hitting her. Then, she looked up, directly at him, and he could read the message she was sending. She wanted him to leave Conrad to her. He couldn’t do that, and she might never understand why, but they would discuss it later. For now, he needed her to move. He stayed perfectly still, with the gun barrel still pointed at Conrad’s chest, and he knew she would check for his answer in a moment, and there it would be, loud and clear.

A tiny noise, like the mewling of a cat, reached his ears and he glanced around for the source. Parker had emerged from a dumpster, dirty, with garbage in her hair, and was prodding a man along in front of her. Another of Conrad’s men, no doubt. She stopped next to Nate and Sophie, who had magically appeared at his side, and was explaining something.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, he looked over in time to see Doc grab her wrist and collapse to her knees before she slowly spread out on to the ground, struggling to breathe. His fingers tightened on the rifle’s trigger, and without allowing himself to stop and think too much about what he was doing, he squeezed the trigger and watched in fascination as a small hole appeared right in the middle of Conrad’s forehead. As if in slow motion, he fell backwards, hit the ground and lay still. Blood slowly pooled behind his head as his eyes dimmed and turned glassy.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

He quickly and carefully cleaned up any evidence that he had been on that roof. Taking the steps two at a time, he ran down to check Conrad. Ascertaining quickly that the man was in fact dead, he hurriedly rifled through Conrad’s pockets, looking for something. Nate wanted to say something, but Eliot had a very forbidding expression, and he decided that it wouldn’t be prudent to do so. Not finding what he was looking for, Eliot ran his hands down either side of Conrad’s suit jacket and then the cuffs of his pants. His fingers stopped as he felt a lump. He withdrew a lethal looking knife from his pocket, flicked it open with one thumb, and carefully cut the seam of the left cuff.

Though Nate couldn’t see what it was, something dropped into Eliot’s hand, and he closed his fist around it. He rose, ran over to Doc, and in one fluid motion, dropped to his knees next to her. His hands were gentle as he loosened her clothing.

“Hang on, girl,” he muttered.

He stopped for a moment, stripping off his black hitter gloves, and then, forcing his breathing under control, he carefully unzipped Doc’s field pouch and withdrew a rather large syringe. Nate cringed as Eliot appeared to stab himself in the hand with it. After a moment, he put one hand in his pocket, while he held the syringe up with the other, squeezing out the air. Then, he tapped the air bubbles out with the now empty hand he had just removed from his pocket. With no time to waste, he plunged the needle into the soft skin of her neck, and depressed the plunger. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, her skin grew pale and clammy, and her breathing became so labored that she was wheezing audibly. Eliot reached for her field medical pack again, and succeeded in spilling its contents all over the place. He growled in frustration and pawed through for what he needed. A moment later, Nate sank down beside him and said, “How can I help, Eliot?”

Eliot didn’t answer. He continued pawing through the medicines on the ground like Nate wasn’t even there. Finally, his hand closed on an Epi-Pen, and he wasted no time in pulling on the top to make the needle pop out, and then plunging it into Doc’s thigh. He counted to five, and when Doc was still struggling to breathe moments later, Eliot had already located the second Epi-pen she carried among her field medical supplies, and he injected her again.

Finally, not taking his eyes off of Doc, Eliot said, “We need to get out of here.”

He was looking at Nate, but it was another voice behind him that answered. “Already taken care of, Eliot.”

Gathering Doc up in his arms, while Nate cleaned up the mess he had made with the field medical kit, he led the way to the entrance to the alley, where a black SUV screeched to a stop right in front of them. The driver’s window rolled down and a commanding voice said, “Get in.” The hatch opened automatically, and Eliot laid Doc out in the back, and then surveyed the team to be sure everyone was accounted for before he allowed himself to get in. The rest of his team was there, but if Kitty was there, he would have bet that Vance was there somewhere, too. He wasn’t among those gathered there, though.

He speared Nate with an icy gaze and asked, “Vance?”

“He took a pretty hard blow to the head. He’s waiting for us at the safe house, undergoing treatment, as we speak.” Eliot looked like he had more questions to ask, but he understood that time was short, and it was possible that others would be converging on their location at any moment, and they needed to be gone when that happened. Not to mention the fact that Doc needed more care than he could give her in the open. He needed a fully stocked treatment room to handle this type of reaction.  The questions could wait.

As he walked up to the team, gathered at the car, he saw the varying degrees of horrified expression on their faces. He didn’t really blame them. They had seen a side of him tonight that he had hoped never to show them. He realized it might take them awhile to come around—to reconcile the man they knew with the man they saw today—and he would do his best to deal with that—later. Right now, he had their safety to worry about. As he passed Parker and Sophie, Parker backed away, staring at him wide-eyed. He growled slightly, but said nothing. What could he say? Eliot climbed into the back of the SUV with Doc, while the others climbed into the front and middle seats, and the SUV sped off into the night.

The ride was a quiet one, as though everyone was a little afraid to speak, after the events that had just transpired. After what seemed an eternity, the SUV turned off the main road and wound around for a few miles, before finally pulling in to the safe house. As soon as the car came to a stop, Eliot threw up the hatch and jumped down; then he turned and picked Doc up, carrying her through the door of her own barn, and into the treatment room on one side. Ignoring the stares of the rest of the small army he had brought together, waiting there for the return of the rest of the team, he closed and locked the door behind him.

As he laid Kat out on one of the cots, Master Yu approached with an oxygen mask and slipped it on over her head. He listened to her heart, and hooked her up to machines to monitor her vital signs. When he was finished, he turned to find Eliot watching the machines hooked up to Vance. Laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder, he said, “How are you, my friend?”

“I’ll live.”

“Good. Perhaps a time of meditation would do you some good. And a hot shower might help your disposition.”

Eliot nodded and looked back at Doc.

“I’ll take care of her. Right now, we are just waiting, anyway. You need time to process all that has happened—to rest and begin to heal.”

Everything in Eliot wanted to protest, but he couldn’t. He saw the wisdom of his sensei’s words. Without a word, he disappeared for a few minutes and Master Yu was pleased to hear water running.

(0o0)

As soon as Conrad was killed, Mitchell was on the telephone, making calls. He discovered, during the course of one of them, that this was a personal mission of Conrad’s, and not officially sanctioned. He immediately took steps to ensure that none of Conrad’s remaining men would be a problem for them. When he was finished with that, he checked his watch. Three hours. Three hours since Eliot had shut himself in the treatment room with an unconscious Doc. He had thought the man would get her settled and come on back out to be with his team at a time like this, but he hadn’t.

Mitchell had wanted to come clean—to try to explain to Eliot why he had done what he had done. He knew he had crossed a line, and though he had a good reason for doing so, he expected Eliot to be angry, and wanted the other man to understand why it was necessary. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to knock on the door.

 

 

(0o0)

A full twenty-four hours had passed, and still Eliot hadn’t emerged from the treatment room. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit it was because he didn’t want to face the rest of the team. There was a reason he had asked Nate not to tell the rest of the team about what he had done in the warehouse when they faced off with Moreau, and there was a reason he had left them behind in the tunnels. He had refrained from showing them the man he used to be because he knew they wouldn’t understand. They would try to make light of it, and pretend that everything was all right, but it wasn’t, and it might never be, and he didn’t know how to make them understand. Up to this point, they had been going on the assurance that he “wasn’t that man anymore” but tonight he had proven that he could, indeed, be that man. They had seen it with their own eyes. What were they—what was anybody, really—supposed to do with that?

“Your friends are beginning to recover. How are you feeling?” Eliot looked up to see that Master Yu had seated himself in the chair next to Eliot’s, and was gazing intently at his friend and student. Eliot couldn’t bring himself to lie to the man, but he also couldn’t burden him with this truth, so he simply shook his head and remained silent.

“How’s Doc?” he finally asked.

“Doctor Carrington is an extremely resilient woman. You saved her life. The poison wreaked havoc on her body, and the allergic reaction has made her exceedingly weak. She probably won't wake for a while, and it may be a long recovery when she does. She'll need you and her other friends to help her through it."

Eliot nodded. Master Yu continued, "I think you should take over her care."

"Why?"

"Because you need to find that part of yourself again."

Eliot nodded again.

 


	27. Chapter 27

Mitchell found he couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to face Eliot and explain why he had done what he had done. He was under no illusions that Eliot would forgive him, or go easy on him, but he still needed to tell him. He wished he knew if Doc or Vance were awake. They, at least, already knew the story, so the shock factor had worn off for them, and they were both pretty good at reining Eliot in, if they chose to do so.

Taking a deep breath, Mitchell knocked on the door. Master Yu opened it, and without a word, stood back and motioned him inside. He looked for Eliot, but the man was not presently in the room.

“I wanted to check on Doc and Vance.”

“Vance is growing stronger. Doc is stable, but she is still touch and go. You may see for yourself, if you like.” Mitchell moved over next to Doc and seated himself in the chair between her cot and Vance’s.

At about that moment, a door to the side of the room opened, and Eliot came out rubbing at his face with a towel.

“Workout and meditation are done, Master. Do you mind watching our patients while I take a shower?” The last word of Eliot’s question fell off a little, and he froze in his tracks as he noticed Mitchell sitting there. The two men looked one another up and down for several long minutes, until finally Eliot asked, in a deceptively calm and quiet voice, “What are you doing here?”

In the face of Eliot’s implacable anger, which, admittedly, he should have anticipated, words failed Mitchell, and he simply gazed at Vance and Kitty—two good friends—and wondered what he might have done differently. It had seemed like the right course of action at the time.

Eliot’s next words pulled him out of his thoughts. “You have ten seconds to tell me why you’re here before I take you apart.”

“I-I came to see you. I wanted you to understand why I did what I did.”

“I found your body. I dug a hole and buried you. I thought I—this—had caused your death. There’s not much you can say to make that better.”

Mitchell held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “No. I know that. Hear me out?”

Eliot nodded once.

“I was watching Conrad closely, so closely, but he found out. I tried to be careful, but it’s hard to hide anything from the CIA, even for people in the CIA. Then, I realized—the only way I stood a chance of hiding anything from him, or finding out what he was up to, was if he didn’t think I had a reason to hide anything and that I wasn’t watching him anymore. The only way I could think to accomplish both was if I let word get out that I had died.”

“All right, but why me?”

“You had to be the one to find me. You were the only one who could sell it to Conrad as convincingly as you did. The only way this worked was if I convinced you that I was dead, enough so that you could convince Conrad.”

“You could’ve given me a head’s up.”

“No. I couldn’t risk being overheard. If this mission taught us nothing else, it should have taught us that someone’s always watching or listening.”

“Agreed. So, how did you stay abreast of what was going on, if everyone in the agency thought you were dead?”

“I needed a spy on the inside, or almost on the inside. Someone who was a friend of Conrad’s, but someone whom I could trust not to betray us.”

“Yeah? Who was that? And how could you be sure he or she could be trusted?”

“General Atherton. He and Conrad were in school together, but I also knew your team had saved him from Moreau. He owed a blood debt, and whatever else he is, he takes that seriously.”

“How did you know he wouldn’t notify Conrad? He wouldn’t be violating the blood debt to let his friend know we were coming for him.”

“I told him if he did that, I would make sure the men still working for Moreau got word that he was still alive. Even with Moreau in prison, his men could still be dangerous, especially to someone like Atherton.”

“How much of this did Wellesley know?”

“None. Like everyone else, he thought I was dead when he was asking his contacts for help, and it was in our best interests if as few people as possible knew about this.”

“What about Doc and Vance?”

“They didn’t know either. In fact, Doc almost broke my jaw when she found out.” Seeing the way Eliot was looking at him, he said, “I’d have told you, then, too, but you were slightly busy.”  Eliot acknowledged that part with a wave of his hand, and answered the first part of what he had said. 

“Really? Good for her. And good for you, too, since that means I don’t have to.”

“I need to say—I really appreciate what you did do for me, when you thought I was dead. There aren’t many people who would bury someone they barely know, or who would treat the body with the reverence with which I’m told you treated mine. You’re an uncommon man, Eliot Spencer. Thank you.”

“Well, hey, never leave a man behind, right? The younger man smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Mitchell took his leave of Eliot a few minutes later, relieved that, though the man was angry, it was an end of the world type angry, and he even seemed to understand why it was necessary for Mitchell to do what he did. He had no doubt that later on, there would be a reckoning, but right now, he felt better.

Eliot, realizing he still needed a shower, left the room. Fifteen minutes later, he was back, fully dressed and looking better than he had for a while. Master Yu was doing paperwork at the desk when Eliot returned, so the younger man moved past him and seated himself in the chair between the two cots that held Doc and Vance. He checked Doc’s vitals first, relieved to find that she was mostly back to normal. When he checked Vance, he found that the man’s vitals were completely normal. His chart indicated a fractured skull and swelling on his brain, along with some bleeding. So, that’s why he wasn’t awake.

“You might try talking to him. It’s been known to make a difference.”

Eliot thought of all the things he wanted to say to Vance at the moment. The mission wasn’t his fault, but he knew he was supposed to keep the rest of the team in the tunnels and away from where they ultimately ended up. None of that was suitable to say right now, under these circumstances, so Eliot simply chose not to say anything at all.

 


	28. Chapter 28

"Perhaps you will talk to me, then," Yu said, after a moment, and Eliot looked up to find his teacher watching him. Eliot nodded.

"I don't mean to pry, but have you spoken to your team about what happened?"

"What do you know about it?"

Master Yu looked pained. Then he said, "May I speak freely?"

Eliot nodded once.

"I know nothing except that which I overheard as they brought these two in and got them settled, and what I myself have observed based on your behavior and the behavior of the others here. From your behavior, I gathered that something traumatic happened, and your team either witnessed it or they were a part of it. They need the time and the space to process what happened, and the freedom to ask questions with the knowledge that they'll receive an honest answer. Have you given them that?"

"Not yet."

"May I ask why not?"

"Because I need time to process it, too."

"Fair enough. Just don't wait too long."

Eliot shook his head and didn't answer.

Moments later, he was pulled from his reverie when a loud groan sounded on the other side of him. He swiveled around in his chair to look at Vance. The man's breathing was normal. Scans showed that the swelling was going down, and also showed near normal brain function.

"Vance? Are you in there, brother?" He started gently slapping the other man's cheek to wake him. A moment later, hands weakly attempted to push his hands away, but still the other man did not open his eyes.

"You're gonna have to do better than that, if you want me to stop," Eliot said, calmly.

A moment later, Vance opened his eyes, squinted from the brightness of the light in the room, and immediately closed them again. Without even being asked, Master Yu turned off the overhead lights, and dimmed the lamps.

Eliot wet a rag and gently wiped it over his friend's face, knowing that would make him more alert. With a louder groan, Vance finally opened his eyes in a squint, and then, when he realized the lights were not as bright, he opened them wider. A moment later, strong hands batted Eliot's away and he nodded in satisfaction. Then, he held a hand out to his friend, and helped him sit up. After a quick neurological test to check the status of the man's concussion, Eliot said, "Welcome back, brother."

"How's Doc?" he asked, in a voice raspy from disuse, gazing at the cot on Eliot's other side.

"She had an allergic reaction to the antidote I gave her to counteract the poison in her bracelet. She's holding her own, for the moment."

"Good." He yawned mightily, and Eliot knew that the job was catching up with him. Being held hostage tended to have that effect on people, and it was the same with head injuries. He'd probably sleep on and off for the rest of the day. Eliot helped Vance lie back down and get comfortable. They needed to talk, but it could wait until the time was right.

"Sleep well, my friend," Eliot said softly.

(0o0)

Eliot was starting to feel trapped, which was not a normal feeling for him. There hadn't been many things in recent years that he couldn't handle, but the prospect of leaving this room—of facing the team he had come to know as more family than co-workers—was daunting. As embarrassed as he was to admit that to himself, there it was.

The voice of his sensei pulled him out of his reverie.

"Eliot? You have a visitor."

He looked up at Master Yu and saw Nate standing next to him. He nodded to let him know it was all right for Nate to stay, and as Master Yu excused himself, Nate sat down on the other side of Doc's bed. He gazed at Doc for a long moment, and then asked, "How is she?"

"I don't know, Nate. She's doing okay right now, but it's still touch and go. She had a pretty nasty reaction to the antidote for the poison in that bracelet." He fell silent and stared at the floor between his shoes. Something in Nate's voice made him look up a moment later, though.

"Do you want to talk about what happened today?" he asked.

Eliot shook his head.

"None of this is your fault, you know."

"Really? How do you figure that?"

"You did what you had to do to put down a threat to the team. No one blames you."

"Are you sure?"

Now, it was the mastermind's turn to nod.

"They may not blame me, but they may not ever look at me the same way again."

Nate shook his head as though he wasn't buying it. Then, he rose and laid a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Master Yu said you still have some recovery, so I'm going to leave and let you rest. Your military friends would like to see you. So would the rest of the team, but we'll wait on that until you are more rested."

Eliot nodded. One by one they came in to check on Doc, and they visited both Vance and Eliot for a while. When they were done, Eliot released them all from the mission, except those who still had some recovery of their own.

(0o0)

Eliot was seated at Doc's bedside in the small treatment room. She was slowly growing stronger, and as her health was returning, so was her spunk. She opened her eyes, and was watching the long haired man in the chair next to her bed. He was talking to someone else, someone on the other side of her, but she was still too weak to turn her head and look to see who it was. Eliot solved the problem for her a moment later.

"I'm sorry we had to leave you and the rest of the team out of the loop, Nate. No one outside of the three of us could know the exact nature of the mission—not if we wanted to keep everybody safe. Conrad had spies in too many places. I" He didn't want to say it, but he knew he couldn't actually lie to Nate. "I couldn't risk having one of you tortured for information. Or losing any of you."

"How touching!" another voice said sarcastically. Vance. He was alive and well. She started to turn her head to look at him and pain rocketed through her. The movement caught Eliot's attention. He placed a large, calloused hand on her forehead, serving the double purpose of checking for fever and preventing her from rising.

"I really think you'll regret that," Eliot said, as she moved to try to sit up. "What do you remember?"

Doc frowned as she realized she didn't really remember much at all. "Not much. It's all a blur."

"I'm not surprised. You had a pretty nasty reaction to the antidote I gave you for that poison. Your memory will probably start to clear in a few hours, now that you are awake."

(0o0)

Doc wasn't sure how much time had passed when she opened her eyes again. She hadn't wanted to sleep again, but her body had other plans. Her head didn't feel as heavy nor did it hurt this time around. Vance and Nate and the rest of the team had moved out into the living area of Nate's apartment, talking quietly. With some effort, and using the wall for support, she pulled herself into a sitting position. When there were no ill effects from that, she pushed herself to the edge of the cot, until she was able to put both feet on the floor. She held onto the mattress on either side of her legs with both hands, and with a mighty heave, pushed herself to her feet. Her head started swimming again, and she swayed dangerously for a moment before starting to fall forward. She fought to stay upright, and threw herself backwards to counteract the forward motion. She just managed to avoid crashing to the ground or hitting the wall with her head, and instead hit the cot with a force that caused it to collapse under her, resulting in both of them hitting the ground with a ferocious noise.

Eliot ran back into the room when he heard the crash, to see Doc sitting on the floor, on top of the collapsed cot, trying to get up. He rushed to her side, picked her up gently, deposited her onto one of the other cots in the room, so that she was sitting up, and sat down across from her.

"What happened?"

"I sat up and was all right, so I thought I'd try to stand. That part didn't work out so well."

"Have you lost your mind? You nearly died from your reaction to the antidote to that poison." He heard himself shouting at her, and forced in a deep breath to try to calm down. He knew he was overreacting.

"I can't just lie here on this cot forever."

"I know, but you're still weak," he said more calmly. He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and spoke again, "You're my friend, and I won't lose you. Not like this."

An awkward silence fell between them, and he cast around for something else to say to change the subject. Suddenly, a question occurred to him that he had been meaning to ask, but he had set it aside as unimportant during the mission.

"You told Nate you had some personal business with me. What was it?"

In the heat of the mission, she hadn't thought about it again. She smiled slightly. "Physical exam. Your air marshal badge is up for renewal, according to my records, and you have to be medically certified to fly. I knew I was in England, and figured you'd rather me do it than send Sully or someone else, so I was going to take care of it before I headed back."

Eliot was silent for a moment, not really sure what to say. He was grateful that she was making an effort to do it herself, and she was right, it was something he would prefer to handle between them, instead of with someone she sent. Yet, it seemed so unimportant in light of what they'd just been through. Finally, he found his voice and said, "Thank you, Kat. I appreciate that. We can still take care of it before you leave."

"Or you could let me do it now."

"Are you up for that?" He looked at her appraisingly.

"If I don't have something to do very soon, I'm going to go totally and completely stir crazy," she said, her tone clipped.

"All right. One condition-" Eliot said, retrieving her medical bag from where he'd placed it on the counter, and coming back over to sit next to her.

"What's that?"

"You don't overdo. If there's something you need done that you can't reasonably do, you let me know, and if it's not something I can do for myself, we'll get Vance in here to help. And I treat you, too." He smiled at her. "You're about due for your next treatment."

"Fair enough. I'll take it," she said, returning the smile.


	29. Chapter 29

When Doc had finished the physical part of Eliot’s exam, she looked at him appraisingly for so long that it made him slightly uncomfortable. Finally, she asked, “How are you feeling?”

He gazed at her steadily and didn’t answer.

“Killing Conrad couldn’t have been easy for you, especially not in front of your team.”

“Well, I see your memory has returned. Good.” Doc was still watching him, and he knew he couldn’t avoid the question forever. He only chalked it up to her being sick that he had gotten away with it this far. He tried another tack. “I never did thank you properly for infiltrating Conrad’s camp and getting me out of there, but I would like to know how you pulled it off.”

“That medication I gave you helped. I fed you false orders, knowing that I would have to make you talk, to be sure you didn’t give away any part of your plan. That’s something we’ll discuss again later, if it becomes a problem, but I undid anything I might have done while you were semi-conscious in that hut in the woods. Now, stop stalling and answer my question.”

He focused on a spot on the wall somewhere over her left shoulder and spoke quietly, sounding a bit embarrassed. “I’m all right, Kat.”

“Convince me.”

He tried not to growl at her and failed slightly. “Okay. I’m not exactly all right. My team had to watch me kill a man, in cold blood, no remorse. Honestly, I don’t know where we go from here.”

“That’s not your decision, my friend. Have you asked them?”

“No. Nate doesn’t seem to think it’ll make a difference in how they see me, but how could it not? Today, they saw the merest fraction of the monster I used to be. What are they supposed to do with that?”

“Weigh it against the man they know now, who happens to be one of the most honorable men I know. And also one of the best.”

“What if they can’t? Won’t?”

“Are these the people for whom you find worthy of risking your life?” He stared at her and nodded, wondering where she was going with this. She returned the nod and continued.

“If they are, then not giving them the chance to show you they understand and accept you anyway is selling them a bit short, don’t you think? And if they can’t or won’t do that, then the question you should be asking is this, ‘Are they worthy of being your friend’?”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. Finally, he held up his hands, palms out, and spoke again.

“All right, all right. I surrender. I’ll talk to the team.”

“Good.”

(0o0)

After meditating for over an hour, Eliot passed through the treatment room on his way out into Nate’s apartment. As he did so, he glanced over at Doc, once again lying on her cot. She and Vance were both sleeping, and Master Yu waved him out with a smile and a wink. Without giving himself too much time to think about what was happening, Eliot walked out into Nate’s living room without a word, and sat down in his usual spot on the sofa.

There was one interminably long moment before anyone noticed he was there, and it was in that moment that he vacillated between wanting them to sit next to him and talk and not really wanting them to notice him at all, and wondered which would be worse. Would it be worse for them to notice and decide they didn’t want anything to do with him, or would it be worse for them to not even notice?

He needn’t have worried because a few moments later he heard a shriek and saw a streak of black and yellow launch and a second later, Parker hit him full force and almost managed to turn the sofa over backwards at the same time. He growled at her as she hugged him fiercely. She squeezed him so tight that for a moment, he found he couldn’t breathe. When he was sure he could do so, he growled louder.

“Parker. Get off me.”

She ignored him. Big surprise there. Gentle hands loosened the arms around his neck, and then found their way to each hip, and he slid her onto the sofa beside him. She tried to latch on around his neck again, but he blocked deftly and playfully said, “Stay”.  Parker pouted for just a moment, until something shiny nearby caught her attention and she got a bit distracted.

Nate watched from the dining room, wanting to go next, but not sure exactly what to do with himself. He debated taking Eliot a beer as he went over, but although the man looked like he needed one, or nine, the mastermind knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t be drinking at a time like this. He quietly opened the cabinet and retrieved a large mug. Filling it with thick, hot coffee, he took that with him instead, knowing Eliot took it black.

He approached the couch holding the mug out in front of him as though it was some sort of peace offering. The surprised hitter took the mug before it hit him in the face or sloshed onto his lap, and Nate sank down next to him on the sofa. After that, they all surrounded him. They sat in silence for a while—none of them willing to push him to talk, and him seemingly lost in thought.

After what seemed an eternity had passed, he spoke, “Do any of you have any questions or concerns about what you witnessed today? If so, speak now. After we are done here, I will never mention it again.”

“You don’t owe us anything, Eliot,” Sophie said softly.

He shook his head. “You watched me act today in a way that is totally contradictory to what you know about me. Honestly, I don’t know where we go from here—how that changes things between us.”

“Why does it have to change anything?”

Eliot grew uncharacteristically angry at that. “Can you truly tell me it won’t? If you’re being totally honest with yourself?”

“No, but I can’t tell you that it will, either.”

“You’ve got to be kidding, Nate. All the way home, no one said a word, and Parker and Sophie looked at me on site like I had kicked their puppy.” Parker looked offended. She moved over next to Sophie, and the women held a whispered conversation.

Hardison spoke up, barely looking up from his keyboard. “It won’t change anything with me. As far as I’m concerned, we’re still brothers.”

“You just don’t know what I’ve done.” Eliot saw the way Hardison was looking at him and growled, “What?”

“I know what you’ve done. All of it. Do you really think I didn’t research your background as thoroughly as possible? I did that for everybody on the team. How else do you think I managed to create aliases that would fool people, and managed to mostly keep you away from the big bad uglies from your past who wouldn’t be fooled by the aliases?”

“But you didn’t choose the cases we took or didn’t take. I did,” Nate said, giving the hacker a look he couldn’t quite read.

“But it was my job to raise any red flags I found. I didn’t find them all because a surprising number of them weren’t online, but some of our mutual friends filled in some of the blanks for me, accidentally of course.”

Eliot didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing, but he also wasn’t hitting anything, so Hardison supposed that was a good sign.

Parker and Sophie came back over to him at that moment. Sophie spoke first.

“As for me, I really don’t care what you’ve done—you’re family.”

Parker added, “The look you saw on our faces—the one you read as horror—well, we were horrified, but not because of who you are. You’re stuck with us, Sparky.”

“IF you weren’t horrified because of who I am, what were you horrified by? Tell the truth,” he warned. “I’ll know if you are lying.”

“I think I’d better explain,” Sophie said quickly. “We were horrified that you were in the situation you were in—that you had to sacrifice so much of your hard-won peace for us—to keep us safe. We were shocked that you would find us worthy of such a gift. It’s not a gift that we will easily be able to repay. All right, for a second or two, we were horrified at what you had done, but never at who you are. When the shock wore off, we knew why you did it—we understood why it was necessary—and we never, not even for an instant, blamed you for it.”

Eliot nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak. He was a bad man—a man a long way past any hope of redemption in his mind, and yet, these people saw him for who he was, and loved him anyway. They saw exactly what he had done, and here they were, reaching out, offering forgiveness. As he sat there, surrounded by his team, overwhelmed at the acceptance he had found from them, he couldn’t help thinking that if redemption wasn’t possible, maybe this was the next best thing. _Or maybe_ , he thought, _there’s more than one kind of redemption_. Just maybe, this is the kind of redemption found when one falls all the way down, albeit for the right reasons, and finds someone below to break his fall and help him find the passage back up to somewhere…else. Somewhere safer. More solid. Less alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
